











































































































































































































































































y ,, . 'i 

0 it x 

A 

o 


/ »‘14 



c 

*/■ 

\°°^ 


^ <t 


c© 

- v~ "■ 4' 

* • '' -4° ui , v ' o » I 4 .<\ 


^ V 

o o v 




/V° ; 

“ t /\ - 

^ y 


0 o x 




0° x x V 


’ ' >y ^ = 

« . r» /-, 



X’ * agifrrs?-, ' -r , 

* ,W * 

-< v* v 6 o 

* <* 

= \° °e, >■ 

’”'•0° ' <fe \ 

^ ^ * a f 'i- r 9 1 

n" \ 

* a\^ 

•A ^ * 

* ^ O, '" 

,V c ° ~ c « ~*b 

$ r-T{V <' K 





■y v 

o 0 X 


















^ /% '** s '/> v * 1 7 * 4 % '°* x VV oNC * ' * * °,c 

y '■’ ^ -p rr. _a\ <«. ^5o\vVa» ^ 


"b 0 x 



AV? X. ' 0 * k * \ \ 

' ^ A* A v 

v J^'A V -P a\ 



•i>, *. 

& > _-_.. _ 

'O' * , c s <0 

0 N C •* „* .> 

< V ► 


y o * x * 


v0 o 


y <■ A 

>, * a n 0 4? 

> Sr * x * 0 a c 

-v A - ^ ?■ f? Si 4 

. ^ * rfCv sk A, "c ^ a v 

<> V , A\\^s//A ° t/> a'V 



o 1 ' * 4 
A -1 < 

>: +*- $ 

^: v o o 


. 0 ° 

°C 

l> 

* ' * 0 / ' 




& <v 


A 

& y 

O '/ 

' . 0 N 

c . 

♦ 

P _^Ts 

<. <* o 

<s X 

>y^» y 


'*© 0 * 























HOMING 














Copyrighted 1923 
by 

Lilyan Stratton Corbin 
All Rights Reserved 


Colyer Printing Co. 
Newark 





LILY AN STRATTON 






NOTICE: 

This is the Author’s private edition of “HOMING” 
and copies are not to be sold. The book will be 
submitted for publication later, in the meantime it 
is not to be advertised or otherwise exploited. 

Lilyan Stratton. 


Sun Dance Manor, 

Mountain Lakes, New Jersey, 

August First, Nineteen Hundred and twenty-three. 






'NlggS 




“I know Heaven 
beautiful than this,” 


is no better or 
whispered Stuart. 


more 



HOMING 


by 

LILY AN STRATTON . 

Author of 

“The Wife’s Lesson” 
“Feminine Philosophy” 
“Reno” 


Frontispiece by 
J. V. RANCK / 


?Z* 

,S°iin 

Ho 

ta T^‘ 



OCT -8 ’23 


©Cl A7 605 46 



'7 tX . 2- 




I 






TO MY HUSBAND 


IN GRATEFUL REMEMBRANCE OF HIS HELPFUL¬ 
NESS AND ENCOURAGEMENT IN 
MY WORK. 


“All things come home at eventide, 

Like birds that weary of their roaming, 

And 1 would hasten to thy side, Homing” 

Arthur L. Salmon. 


CONTENTS 


PART ONE 

The wedding and early married life of Stuart 
Blake and Velora Allen, introducing the 
Sladers and Mary Langford. 


PART TWO 

Twenty years after the wedding of Stuart 
and Velora. 

Memory’s Mirror. 

Introducing the Mansfields. 


PART THREE 


And then 





PART ONE 


NOTE: THE WEDDING AND 

EARLY MARRIED LIFE OF 
STUART BLAKE AND VELORA 
ALLEN, INTRODUCING THE 
SLADERS AND MARY LANGFORD. 


Chapter 1 

I 

To take Stuart Blake on his wedding 
night at the age of twenty-one, and to under¬ 
stand something of the personality and 
character of the man, and why things hap¬ 
pen as they do, is to necessitate becoming 
acquainted with the people and circum¬ 
stances which influence his life. 

Among those whose influence was 
strongest, was his school days sweetheart, 
Mary Langford, though the great person¬ 
ality of his uncle, Henry G. Slader, stood 
out foremost. Since a little boy Stuart had 
looked up to this man as a prince of the 
great financial world, and to follow his 
standard had been the boy’s greatest 
ambition. 

Henry G. Slader had come to America 
from a small town in Germany when he 
was five years old. With him his father, 
mother and two sisters, Magda and Eveline. 

They were people of very moderate 
means. Henry Slader had saved and plan- 


12 


HOMING 


ned to get together the money that would 
take him and his little family to that great 
country America,—the land of ‘unlimited 
possibilities’—where his little Henry would 
have his chance—an equal chance —tc 
succeed. 

The country where a great fertile brain 
may come into its own regardless of class, 
capital or labor. Brain! the great mental 
force; the world’s driving power.” 

The Sladers settled in a cottage near some 
friends on the outskirts of Paterson, New 
Jersey. 

The girls—Eveline who was sixteen and 
Magda who was fourteen—got work in one 
of the great mills. Through the influence 
of their friends, old Slader became book¬ 
keeper in one of the mills, while Mother 
Slader kept everything spick and span in the 
little unpretentious home. 

She had her serious troubles with little 
Henry who had to be pulled out of more 
fights in the street and could get dirtier than 
any other boy in the neighborhood, but all 
the same he was the prince and pride of the 
Slader family. Every thought was for 
Henry. 

Henry was rapidly developing into an 


\ 




HOMING 


13 


independent: he was a boss fighter: could 
fight his way through wildcats. 

He earned his first money in America at 
the age of seven, when he would draw a 
ring with a piece of chalk and give an ex¬ 
hibition prize-fight, to which all of his 
friends paid their pennies for admission. 
The ring was in the backyard of his home. 
He had an agreement with his opponent by 
which he divided the proceeds with him. 
He saved his money, each penny being 
carefully deposited in his bank—a green 
stone pig. 

One day Henry found that his green stone 
pig was full to the brim; it wouldn’t hold 
another cent. It was a pretty good-sized 
pig, and Henry had been one whole year 
filling it, and as he was getting tired of being 
the neighborhood champion, he took the 
pennies he had so desperately fought for, and 
as he expressed it, ‘went into the newspaper 
business.* 

After school hours, when he was through 
with a hurried supper, he sold his papers 
from a soap box, which he placed near the 
railway station in the path of the incoming 
passengers, among whom very soon his 
keenness and joviality won him popularity. 


14 


HOMING 


Henry had a remarkable brain and was a 
natural born student; he always headed his 
classes at school and finally rushed ahead 
with his studies at such a terrific rate that 
his fifteenth year found him a high school 
graduate. 

By this time the soap-box news-dealer 
had become the proprietor of a full fledged 
news-stand, which could be closed up and 
locked at night and on which were displayed 
all the popular magazines and various other 
articles. 

The boy was a big strapping athlete, his 
only physical defect apparently was his eye¬ 
sight, which defect unquestionably was 
accentuated by the strain of constant study. 
Finally he had to wear glasses; at first only 
while studying, but later all the time. Be¬ 
cause he graduated from high school did 
not mean that he stopped studying; he 
continued with the same untiring zeal. 

One year after he graduated he sold his 
news stand at quite a profit and took a posi¬ 
tion in the office of a big Wall Street bank¬ 
ing house. 

His duties were to keep the desks of the 
great financier’s office clean and in order; 


HOMING 


15 


pencils, pens, ink and stationery always 
supplied, and things properly dusted. 

But there were things which interested 
Henry more than the dust which came 
drifting in through the windows from the 
great street below, and settled on Mr. M’s 
enormous silver inkwell and expensive desk 
furnishings. 

They were balance sheets with enormous 
figures; telegrams and cables which told of 
business transactions which meant millions 
of dollars; statements with figures neatly 
written in red ink, five and six figures glaring 
up at him as though they were written in 
blood, shelves filled with books containing 
valuable information. 

One day the great financier called in his 
office manager and pointed to the thin layer 
of dust over his desk, the stationery which 
had not been replenished, and the inkwell 
actually dried up. 

“You will have to get another office boy, 
Craig; I can’t be annoyed with this numb¬ 
skull. I have spoken to him three times 
about his carelessness. He said his eyesight 
is bad and he could not see the dust. . . .1 
was sorry for him and let it go, but I can’t 
be annoyed any longer!” 


16 


HOMING 


II 

Henry could not see the dust, but he could 
see the figures following the dollar sign, and 
while he did not gather up much dust he did 
gather up much information. 

He continued to study, he took a secre¬ 
tarial course in a New York night school, 
and finally, after holding various different 
positions, became private secretary to one 
of the biggest railroad financiers in the 
country. He remained in that position for 
three years, continued saving his money, 
and at the age of twenty-five opened his 
own office in Wall Street. The brass plate 
on the door announced: “H. G. Slader, 
Investments.” 

In the meantime his elder sister, Eveline, 
had been married to Walter Blake, the 
serious young minister of the church the 
family attended in the suburbs of the old 
factory town. Their marriage had been 
blessed with two children. 

It was in later years that Reverend Blake 
had managed to be transferred to the village 
church near his old homestead at Valley 
View. 

Henry’s younger sister had died of pneu- 


HOMING 


17 


monia during their second year in America, 
and as soon as things began to come his way 
he moved his mother and father into a 
comfortable flat uptown, forever leaving 
behind them the early struggles. 

From then on his success became one of 
the outstanding features in Wall Street. 


Chapter 2 

I 

On Stuart Blake’s wedding night the 
home of the millionaire railroad financier, 
Henry G. Slader, was a blaze of light. 
Perched among other palaces of wealth on 
Riverside Drive, its brilliant lights reflected 
on the shadowy Hudson River far below. 

It was just twenty-two years since Henry 
Slader, the little Paterson newsboy, had 
moved his mother and father to New York, 
and had gone into business for himself. 

He had married fifteen years ago into 
a family of great financial influence, but 
no children had blessed the union, and 
he idolized his nephew Stuart Blake, who 
displayed many of his uncle’s characteris¬ 
tics—a fact which was very pleasing to the 
latter. 

The Reverend Blake and his family were 
house guests at the great Riverside man¬ 
sion until after the wedding. 

In the banquet hall there were covers laid 


HOMING 


19 


for over a hundred guests. With the ex¬ 
ception of a few close friends of the Blakes, 
the guests were friends of the Sladers. 
People of power in the financial world; not 
of the four hundred set, but of the thousands 
of brain workers of the great army of com¬ 
merce. 

The immense hall of the big house had 
been turned into a June rose garden; an 
improvised altar had been formed at one 
end of the big room under a bower of pink 
bride’s roses and Southern smilax. All the 
lights were shaded by rose-colored wedding 
bells. 

Behind a group of marvelous palms a 
sweet voiced soprano sang “Oh Promise 
Me,’’ accompanied by a stringed orchestra. 

Then from the great organ in the music 
room beyond came the strains of the wed¬ 
ding march from “Lohengrin,’’ and the 
hangings were thrown back to admit the 
bridal procession. 

There was a little thrill of admiration as 
the guests beheld the beautiful little bride. 
Leaning on the arm of her future husband’s 
uncle she looked like a lily clad in rainbow 
robes. 


20 


HOMING 


Stuart received his bride with a smile 
which was heavenly to see. 

When the Reverend Walter Blake in his 
clear sincere voice began to read the service, 
there was something beautifully solemn in 
the whole atmosphere as he said: 

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together 
here in the sight of God, and in the face of 
this company, to join together this man and 
this woman in Holy Matrimony; an honor¬ 
able state instituted of God in the time of 
man’s innocence, signifying unto us the 
mystical union that is betwixt God and His 
Church; which holy estate Christ adorned 
and beautified with His presence and first 
miracle that He wrought in Cana of Galilee 
and is commended of Saint Paul to be hon¬ 
orable among men; and is therefore not by 
any to be entered into unadvisedly or 
lightly; but reverently, discreetly and in the 
fear of God!” 

“Into this state these two persons present 
come now to be joined. If any man can 
show just cause why they may not lawfully 
be joined together, let him speak now or 
hereafter forever hold his peace. . . . 

As the ceremony went on to the end 
Mary (Little Saint Mary as she was usually 


HOMING 


21 


called), the deserted sweetheart of Stuart’s 
boyhood, sobbed out her heart, her face 
buried deep in the sweet fresh June clover 
down behind the old spring-house at Valley 
View, with only God as witness to the 
anguish in her heart. 

In the mansion on Riverside Drive 
happiness reigned supreme. 

Velora Allen, who had deliberately stolen 
Mary Langford’s lover, was a beautiful and 
happy bride. It was her supreme moment. 
In a whirl of lace and flowers and music 
she was a queen reigning on the throne of 
love and beauty. 

She loved Stuart in her light little way; 
he was a dear fellow; he was clever, and 
generous, and a divine dancer. She had 
been taught that it was just as easy to love 
a man with the possibility of a brilliant 
future as a good-for-nothing ne’er-do-well. 

After the wedding supper the bride and 
groom were escorted by a few of their 
friends and relatives to the big ocean liner, 
which was to sail for Europe at seven o’clock 
the next morning. 

Stuart’s uncle had planned to send his 
nephew abroad for three months to study 
and report on railroad conditions in Europe; 


22 


HOMING 


also to make business connections there as 
the representative of his uncle’s firm. It 
was to be a sort of combination business 
trip and honeymoon. 


II 

It was two o’clock in the morning when 
Stuart, very softly knocked on the door 
which connected his stateroom with that of 
his bride’s. As there came no answer, he 
gently opened the door. 

He expected almost anything, but what 
greeted his startled eyes. 

Her traveling suit had been hurriedly 
thrown on a chair, her shoes and stockings 
were in the middle of the floor; hats, gloves 
and bits of fluffy lingerie were carelessly 
thrown about and on the bed; sound asleep 
was his bride. 

She was a fairer vision of loveliness than 
he had ever dreamed of. The June breeze 
drifted in through the open window and 
toyed with the golden ringlets about her 
rosebud face. Her beautiful hair had been 
loosened and flowed out over the pillow, 
forming a golden, shimmering mass to re¬ 
ceive her statuesque little body. 



HOMING 


23 


There she lay like the tired little butterfly 
she was, robed in a garment of pink-tinted 
fluff, which might have been fashioned from 
the gauzy wings of butterflies; every soft, 
perfect curve of her delicate body gleaming 
through its transparent beauty. 

Stuart leaned against the door and feasted 
his eyes on this beautiful possession of his. 
Her exquisite breasts like two tropical 
flowers behind a rose-colored cloud: how we 
would admire them on a sculptured statue 
in the art galleries, but how much more 
wonderful in the soft living loveliness of 
God’ s own creation. 

“God’s own masterpiece of creation,” 
thought Stuart, as he gently bent over and 
gathered her in his arms like a delicate 
flower. 

She fluttered a little like a captured bird, 
but he drew her to his glowing heart and 
pressed his burning lips to hers until she lay 
submissive in his strong arms. 

And so Fate added another to the list of 
those who mistake the damning desire of 
manhood for the pure love of a clean heart. 
Another who was to face the tragedy of dis¬ 
illusionment, when physical attraction is no 
more to light the fires of passionate appeal! 



24 


HOMING 


III 

The voyage was a happy one for the bride 
and groom. Velora enjoyed being petted 
and spoiled by her adoring husband. She 
enjoyed the novelty of being a bride; the 
whispers of the passengers as she passed by 
leaning on Stuart’s arm; she knew they 
were saying: “There goes the bride and 
groom.’’ 

Sometimes she would catch a word: 
“Isn’t she a pretty little thing?’’ or: “They 
seem to be very devoted,’’ or: “Surely there 
is nothing like love’s young dream!’’ 

She enjoyed all the pretty clothes; the 
tantalizing fluffy feminine things which she 
donned in the privacy of her room; she 
loved to be able to excite that flame in her 
husband which burned until his whole body 
was aglow, and he would crush her madly to 
him and drink deep of the wine of her red 
lips and feel her heart throbs against his 
breast: the mad ecstacy of Youth. 


Chapter 3 

I 


For hours Mary Langford lay out under 
the canopy of stars. She drenched the 
sweet clover blossoms with her tears on 
Stuart’s wedding night. She rejoiced at the 
dead day; to the night she gave a glad greet¬ 
ing; it brought sweet solace to a tortured 
soul, for in its dark shadows she could hide 
her grief. 

What is death compared to the agony of 
a breaking heart and a tortured soul? 

To Velora it was a night of joy and glad¬ 
ness : to Mary it was a night of sorrow, suf¬ 
fering and tears. To her it seemed that 
even God had forgotten. But “Surely, the 
Great Invisible King knoweth best when 
and where to weave joy and despair into the 
scheme of things,” thought Mary, “and in 
His divine wisdom He knoweth that sorrow 
is but the real test and real happiness its 
sure recompense;” but no philosophy could 
ease the pain in her heart at that moment. 


26 


HOMING 


To Mary life was a black chaos; her 
heart was sick and sore; her mind distorted. 
She dug her fingers into the tall damp clover 
and whispered: “I am going mad; my brain 
can’t stand the aching of my heart.” 

To her distorted mind it seemed that Hell 
had given up all its shriveled souls, to ges¬ 
ture and mock at her in fiendish glee. Gob¬ 
lins glared and gibed from out of the gloom; 
monstrous bats, fierce-eyed and heavy¬ 
winged, flitted hither and thither; every¬ 
where wreck and ruin, desolation and black 
despair. 


II 

Storm-clouds hid the stars, and out of the 
black night there came no sound but the sob 
of a breaking heart. 

Suddenly, the storm broke. The wind 
in the tree tops roared, shrieked and 
groaned. The branches cracked and bent, 
and big raindrops beat down through the 
darkness. 

Through it all Mary lay as though numb 
and half dead, recalling all the happy days 
of her childhood, crushed by the disappoint¬ 
ment, heartache and despair of the present. 


HOMING 


27 


The storm without was nothing to the 
storm raging within her heart. She turned 
and let the wind and rain beat on her face. 

The thunder rolled and roared; the wind 
whipped the trees and bent the clover at her 
feet; fierce flashes of lightning ripped 
gashes in the black sky. 

The wind, the trees and the storm are 
all my friends,” she thought; ‘‘they are do¬ 
ing all my screaming and beating for me. 
It is the most glorious battle I ever wit¬ 
nessed.” 

A great flash of lightning struck a nearby 
oak, splitting its sturdy body from the top¬ 
most bough to its huge trunk. 

As the storm raged on, it seemed to 
soothe her troubled soul. She lay there 
perfectly still until it was over. 

Presently the moon came gliding out 
from behind the clouds flooding the storm- 
tossed forest with silvery rays, and in its 
glorious light Mary’s agonized soul rose to 
the infinite oneness with God. 

Mary felt that she had never been so near 
the Divinity; she knew that the Great Re¬ 
deemer had not forgotten. A great peace 
had come into her heart. As she rose in ec- 
stacy and stood in holy admiration of Na- 


28 


HOMING 


ture’s majesty she knew that she was going 
to take up her cross and bear it bravely to 
the end. 


Ill 

She rose and started down the wet woods 
lane, running every step of the way home, 
her clothes dripping, and her hair streaming. 

Upon arriving at the house she tiptoed in 
and, after a hot bath, donned a warm dress¬ 
ing gown, threw open the old French win¬ 
dows, and stepped out on the balcony into 
the serenity of the June night. 

There was no sign of the recent storm ex¬ 
cept the perfume of the rain-drenched 
roses and jasmine from the old-fashioned 
garden below. 

The hills were forming a shadowy cres¬ 
cent around the bend of the river. The 
moon was its silveriest and greatest, as it 
touched the pine trees with mellow light, 
and glorified the beauty of the landscape. 

Though actually suffering, there came to 
Mary such an unspeakable ethereal light¬ 
ness and buoyancy; such a thrill of joy as 
she gazed out on all this quiet beauty of 
God’s creation, that even pain was pleasure. 


HOMING 


29 


She stood a long time in silent admira¬ 
tion. Then out of the silence, came the 
call of the whip-poor-will. . . “Whip- 

poor-will—whip-poor-will! ’ ’ 

“What a wondrous thing is hope,” 
thought Mary, “how easily it overcomes all 
obstacles; bridges oceans; spans continents; 
gilds transgressions and rights wrongs; 
achieves the impossible, and paves the fu¬ 
ture with golden promise!” 

And with what sweet insistance the mel¬ 
ody of that night bird appealed to her, as 
though it were the echo of all her hopes, 
desires and love, crying out. 

“Live! live! Is there not still another 
day in which to undo? Another horizon 
whose skies of blue will help me forget: an¬ 
other leaf in life on which Fate may write 
her kindest message after all?” 

And again came the call of the whip-poor- 
will, and once again, farther away this time, 
out of the dim distance, 

“Whip-poor-will! Whip-poor-will! ’ ‘ 

Out of the quiet beauty this great and 
helpful philosophy came to the assistance of 
poor little Saint Mary: 

“Disappointment is of times a two-edged 
blade, and yet if the wound never heals, 


30 


HOMING 


time cures the hurt. That, for which we 
strive most is not always best, and life is 
always well worth living if we play our part 
well.” 

“Loss of hope means decay. No matter 
how precious the treasure lost, duty stands 
ever on guard, pointing the way to human 
helpfulness; to action and interest. Not 
to brooding discontent nor to sullen surren¬ 
der, but to love and not to cynicism.” 

“I have my music, my flowers and all of 
God’s glorious out-of-doors, and I shall ever 
fefcep a great pure love within my heart. I 
shall rise above yesterday, because I know 
that God is Love and all is well.” 

“Behold,—another dawn” . . . and 

as Mary closed her window and knelt to 
pray she heard the low and plaintive call 
“Whip-poor-will”: it seemed like 
a pledge of the fullfillment of her prayer. 
• • • 


Chapter 4 

I 

Stuart was well established in Tennessee. 
He had worked hard and success was crown¬ 
ing his efforts. His uncle had made him 
vice-president of a railroad down there of 
quite some importance. 

The first year had been a very happy one 
for the Blakes. They had rented a beauti¬ 
ful old colonial place, the beautiful Mrs. 
Blake had become quite a society queen, 
and young Blake was well liked among the 
men. 

He had become known as a hustler and a 
man with grit; with the courage of his con¬ 
victions. 

But, life is not meant to be clear sailing 
from the cradle to the grave. 

At the close of the first year of her mar¬ 
riage, Velora knew that she was to become 
a mother. The knowledge rather annoyed 
her; she wanted children because she really 
wanted to please her husband and she knew 


32 


HOMING 


he longed for a son, but, “why must it be 
now?” she thought, “just when I am having 
such a wonderful time, and I shall be obliged 
to miss all the gaiety of the social season! I 
shan’t be able to go out at all next winter! 
What a nuisance!’’ 

Then, for the first time since she could 
remember, she wept a little: finally she de¬ 
cided to keep her secret as long as she pos¬ 
sibly could, even from her husband. 

In those days the wasp-like waistline was 
in vogue, and, with the help of the corset 
lace, Velora actually concealed her condition 
for three months. At last she was obliged to 
tell her husband, and as she began to get a 
little nervous and afraid, she asked Stuart to 
send for her mother. 


II 

Mrs. Allen arrived a month later. She 
was a sensible woman, who had obtained 
her wisdom in the hard, cold, cruel school of 
experience. She found Velora still lacing 
into her beautiful tight-waisted gowns, flut¬ 
tering out to all the social functions, and 
immediately took the situation in hand. 

Two more bedrooms were brought into 


HOMING 


33 


service at once; one for Mrs. Allen and one 
for Stuart. Old Uncle Bill and Aunt Har¬ 
riet were kept on the go, airing and cleaning, 
and getting the nursery done over. 

Mrs. Allen was looking forward with 
much joy and excitement to her first grand¬ 
child. 

She crocheted, and knitted, and hem¬ 
stitched, until the sewing room looked like 
a display sale of infants wear. 

For the first time since their marriage 
Stuart and Velora occupied separate bed¬ 
rooms, and, as has happened many times 
before in the lives of husbands and wives, 
they never again shared the same bedroom. 
There was nothing ever said about it; they 
just didn’t. 

Mrs. Allen insisted that Velora should 
dispose of the tight corsets and gowns; that 
she should dress in such a way as to insure 
the health of herself and the expected child. 

Under protest Velora accepted the situa¬ 
tion, canceled all social engagements and 
dressed as her mother advised. 

Stuart was glad of this for many reasons. 
It would give him evenings at home and en¬ 
able him to work; he had to make good now 
more than ever, and for a young fellow 


34 


HOMING 


starting out with the responsibility of a fam¬ 
ily, and a rather important position, to make 
good meant hard work. 

He still adored Velora, or at least thought 
he adored her; though in reality it was only 
her prettiness which charmed his youth, and 
was to be the great tragedy of their union. 

At last the eventful day arrived. The 
stork called on Velora one bright chilly 
March morning, just as the sun peeped up 
over the hills to bring its light and warmth 
to the awaiting world. It was just possible 
that Velora had never had her wonderful 
big violet eyes open so early in the morning 
before. 

“What a strange thing is Life,” thought 
Stuart as he sat down-stairs as so many anx¬ 
ious husbands and fathers have done before, 
anxiously awaiting for news from the cham¬ 
ber of the miracle of life. 

Ill 

“Why should we be born of woman’s 
agony? Sheltered and nurtured only to 
pay a final debt in full,” thought Stuart, as 
he pondered on. “Always striving for the 
unattainable,—damned by desire and con¬ 
sumed with dread.” 


HOMING 


35 


Consumed with dread he was, afraid for 
the life of his beautiful little wife. 

He rose and paced up and down the floor. 

“What a fearsome thing is life,” he 
thought; “if that little woman should die I 
would feel like a murderer.” 

Just then an agonizing scream rent the 
stillness followed by a baby’s feeble cry, and 
a great, ‘“Thank God,” came from the lips 
of Stuart Blake. It was breathed from his 
very soul. 

For two hours,—hours that had seemed 
like years, he had waited there in fear and 
dread while the doctor and old colored nurse 
fought to save the life of his wife and first 
born; he was grateful for that agonizing 
scream that told him his wife still lived, and 
the feeble little wail which conveyed the 
news of Motherhood. 

In the room above, old Aunt Harriet was 
saying: “Mrs. Allen, yo’ jes’ go down an’ 

tell poah Mr. Stuart dat he’s got a boy, an’ 
den yo’ lay down a spell. I kin tek care of 
’er now. 1’se gwine ter wash an’ dress de 
chile whilst she’s drapped off ter sleep.” 

She turned to the doctor, “Yo’ better tek 
a little res’ too.” She opened the door to 
a spare-room and motioned him in. 


36 


HOMING 


For twelve hours they had not left the 
side of Velora’s bed and the last two hours 
her life had hung by a thread. Now that 
the danger was over, they all began to feel 
the severe strain and were glad to leave 
things in the hands of old Aunt Harriet, 
whose store of energy and strength seemed 
inexhaustible. 

“1 believe I will take a little rest,’’ said the 
doctor, “but don’t forget to call me the mo¬ 
ment Mrs. Blake awakens.’’ 

Velora’s mother went downstairs and 
smiling through her tears informed her son- 
in-law that he was the father of a boy, and 
that his wife would live, though the confine¬ 
ment had been a very dangerous one. 

They rejoiced together for a few mo¬ 
ments, and then Stuart went out to tele¬ 
graph his father, mother and uncle. 

“Its a boy. Mother and son are doing 
well,’’ the wire ticked off. 

Two hours later Aunt Harriet appeared 
in the living room with all the importance 
of a black princess. 

“Yo* kin come an’ see yoah chile. Fo* 
de Lawd’s sake, Mr. Stuart, yo’ sho’ do look 
like you done had dat chile yo’self !*’ 

“Instead you settin’ here takin’ yoah ease 



HOMING 


37 


wile we-all bin strugglin’ ter bring dat chile 
inter de wol’ widout killin’ off both of ’em. 
You sho is as pale as a ghost. I ’speck you 
ain’t had no breakust. You jest better 
spruce up a bit befo’ Mis’ Velor’ see you; 
she’s awake an’ askin’ fo’ you.” 

Stuart’s face lighted up at this informa¬ 
tion. 

“All right, Aunt Harriet, I will tidy up a 
bit; please tell Mrs. Blake that I shall be up 
to see her in a few moments.” 

IV 

Stuart tip-toed into Velora’s room a few 
minutes later. He saw the little lace cov¬ 
ered bassinette with its blue ribbons near the 
bed, and Velora’s mother sitting beside her. 

“How is she now?” he whispered anx¬ 
iously. 

“All right I think, but it was terrible,” and 
Mrs. Allen’s drawn face with its aged lines 
showed that she had gone through acute 
suffering while witnessing her daughter’s 

agony. 

Slowly Velora turned her head and 
opened her beautiful violet eyes. She was 
very pale and fragile looking. 


38 


HOMING 


Stuart leaned over and kissed her. 

“How are you feeling dear?’’ he whis¬ 
pered, holding her hand very gently in his. 

“Better,’’ she whispered, “have you seen 
the baby?’’ 

Mrs. Allen rose and left the room quietly, 
leaving the two young people together with 
their great mutual joy. 

“I hope he is a fine boy, Stuart, and will 
bring us much happiness. He almost cost 
me my life,’’ whispered Velora, as Stuart 
gazed down at the sleeping little bundle of 
humanity which had been responsible for so 
much suffering and anxiety during the past 
twenty-four hours. 

“Well, he doesn’t look like much of a 
man just now,’’ said Stuart with a rather 
happy smile, “but he may be president of 
the United States some day, you know!*’ 

They both looked at the wee little face, 
and Velora smiled too. 


Chapter 5 

I 

Stuart Blake went back to his work with 
more energy and determination than ever, 
when he knew that his wife was out of dan¬ 
ger, and things were back to normal again at 
home. 

He worked far into the night, and eight 
o’clock each morning found him at his desk. 

Did he ever think of his boyhood sweet¬ 
heart during this busy rush of life? Had 
he ever realized for a single moment how 
madly and sincerely she had loved him? 

He had thought of her, but only casually. 
He knew that she loved him, but he knew 
nothing of the quality of love which she 
bore him. 

Her love was like a flawless jewel, dis¬ 
covered among thousands of jewels of lesser 
value. 

When he thought of her at all, he thought 
that she would forget him and be happy 
with someone else, as so many others have 
done. 


40 


HOMING 


Youth is often selfish and superficial be¬ 
cause of its inexperience. 

Stuart had never gone below the surface 
of Mary’s character, therefore he knew 
nothing of the depth of feeling, the endu¬ 
rance and the constancy in her spiritual per¬ 
sonality. 

With the cares and struggles, joys and 
sorrows and anxiety of his busy life, he al¬ 
most forgot his boyhood sweetheart, as 
many of us often forget dear friends under 
similar circumstances, until some happy 
memory or some great need brings them 
back to us. 

Velora nursed her child, though she re¬ 
mained an invalid for several months. The 
child was puny and fretful, and the doctor 
said he would surely die unless nursed by 
the mother. He was a scrawny delicate 
child, hard to keep alive. He was named 
after Stuart's uncle, the great New York 
financier, and was called Henry Stuart 
Blake. 

He immediately acquired from his uncle 
a bank account and several thousand dollars 
worth of railroad shares, by way of encour¬ 
agement to live. 

Henry was the idol of his father and of 


HOMING 


41 


the entire household, but a constant anxiety 
because of his health. 

After three months of uninterrupted 
worry and careful nursing and care the little 
sufferer was stricken with convulsions, and 
one evening during a serious attack, uttered 
a feeble little protest—the same feeble little 
wail which announced his birth—and 
passed away. 


II 

Over his little white coffin in the darkened 
living room, Stuart stood up like a man 
under his first great sorrow, holding the 
weeping little mother to his heart, trying his 
best to comfort her. 

The baby’s death had been a greater blow 
than any one realized. Stuart had not been 
prepared. He had had a very smooth life. 
He was twenty-three years old and he could 
not remember a day’s real sorrow in all that 
time. He was wholly unprepared for the 
tragedies of life, and therefore they were 
much harder to bear. 

The grief over the death of the baby was 
perhaps the first real emotion Velora had 
ever known. She was really heartbroken 


42 


HOMING 


as she stood by the little casket and sobbed: 

“My little angel, why has God taken you 
from me?” 

One can see a woman grieve and shed 
tears, yet it does not wring the heart as 
much, as when one looks upon a strong man 
fighting against an overpowering sorrow. 
It would have wrung the heart of a stone, 
to see that strong, fine, young father strug¬ 
gling against this first overpowering grief of 
his life: to watch the cords of his neck swell 
and contract; to watch him choke back the 
lump in his throat; to look at his white com¬ 
pressed lips and set face; to see his eyes turn 
red with unshed tears; to witness the heart¬ 
rending sorrow of a father over the casket 
of his first born. 

As Mrs. Allen watched this scene with 
an aching heart, she thought, “How strange 
the scheme of life! Why was this little life 
that came into the home, heralded by a great 
joy, to go out so soon, leaving only a trail 
of sorrow? Is it true, that there is never a 
smile which does not foreshadow a sob and 
tear?’* 

A little grave in the cemetery on the side 
of a green sloping hill, marked by a monu¬ 
ment supporting a beautiful sculptored 


HOMING 


43 


angel ... a tiny baby angel with 
spreading wings, as though it were prepared 
for its flight to Heaven was all that remained 
to them of the joy and sorrow of the past 
few months. 


Ill 

The bloom of youth had deserted Velora. 
A yellowish pallor had taken the place of 
that delicate rose-tinted glow. Nursing her 
baby for three months, and the agony of its 
birth, and the worry and grief of its death, 
had completely exhausted the golden butter¬ 
fly and sapped the bloom of youth. 

She looked like a faded rose whose beauty 
and freshness might be revived with gentle 
care, fresh cool water and a shady place. 

Stuart was positively alarmed. The thing 
he had worshipped and adored—Velora’s 
exquisite beauty, that wonderful glow of 
youthful charm as lucious and inviting as a 
tropical peach—was vanishing before his 
very eyes. 

While the baby had lived, the care and 
anxiety for his son had occupied his atten¬ 
tion, but now, there were just two things in 
his life: Velora and his work. 


44 


HOMING 


IV 

A month after the baby’s funeral, Stuart 
approached the subject of Velora’s health. 

“You are looking dreadfully run down, 
dear,’’ he said. “The past few months have 
been too much for you and I don’t wonder. 
We must do something about it.” 

Velora went over and curled up in her 
husband’s lap like a pet kitten and cried 
down his collar. She had become a weak, 
nervous, weeping woman. 

“You are not at all complimentary,” she 
said through her tears. “That’s only a nice 
way of telling me that I look awful. I don’t 
think you love me any more!” 

Stuart was very gentle with her. He 
thought of those past few months of anguish 
and he patted her head soothingly. 

“There, there,” he whispered, a world of 
sympathy in his voice. “How can you say 
such a thing, when I am only thinking of 
something I can do to make you better and 
happier! Now listen: how about a change ? 
This is the last week of August. Suppose 
you and mother go up North for a while. 
You can have two weeks at Atlantic City; 
the ocean breeze will soon fan back the roses 


HOMING 


45 


to your cheeks and you can have a few 
weeks in New York, see all your old friends 
and do some shopping and then bring back 
to me my Velora with the sparkle in her eyes 
and the roses in her cheeks! How about 
it?” 

Velora dried her eyes and looked at him. 
“Stuart dear, that would be wonderful for 
me, but how about you? 'What will you 
do?” 

“Why, 1 shall have my work, and the joy 
of knowing that I have sent you on a health¬ 
gathering errand. Those two things will 
be enough for me, until you return.” 

“I hate being so selfish, dear,” said Ve¬ 
lora, “and Tm ashamed of my weakness, 
but I am just I, and it can’t be changed. I 
would love to go, and perhaps you are right. 
I shall be able to return, feeling my old self 
again. Thank you dear! I will go and 
talk it over with mother.” 

She uncurled herself, slid out of his lap 
and went gliding out of the room like a tired 
shadow. 


Chapter 6 

I 

There was a very small informal bridge 
party at the home of Constance Carlton. 

Mr. Carlton was a business associate of 
Stuart Blake, and Constance had been one 
of the first friends Velora had made upon 
her arrival, and she had proven a very loyal 
friend. 

Four tables had been arranged in the liv¬ 
ing room of the Carlton home and fifteen of 
Mrs. Carlton’s friends were assembled for a 
pleasant afternoon at their favorite pastime. 

“I asked Velora to come this afternoon!” 
Constance announced as they were about to 
be seated. 

‘‘Poor dear, I called to see her yesterday 
and she did look so pathetic.” 

‘‘I have not seen her for weeks,” said 
Caroline Adams. ‘‘They say the poor girl 
had a terrible time, and to think they should 
lose their baby after all!” 

Rosamund Miles turned from the next 
table to join the conversation. 


HOMING 


47 


“No wonder they lost the child. She just 
about killed it before it was born. Poor lit¬ 
tle thing. I think it was a sin and shame, 
the way she pinched her waist into twenty- 
two inches until about four months before 
the baby was born.” 

“Well,” replied Constance, “she paid for 
that mistake very dearly! Of course it was 
the poor child’s inexperience; she just did 
not know any better, and she kept her secret 
until her mother’s arrival. Her vanity 
nearly cost her her own life as well!’’ 

Eveline Lawrence, who was seated at the 
table with the hostess, remarked at this 
point; “Mrs. Blake is rather late, is she 
not?’’ 

“She is not going to play,’’ replied Con¬ 
stance, “but I made her promise to come in 
for a moment at tea time. She has not been 
out at all since about two months before the 
baby’s birth; that is about seven months 
ago.’’ 

“She said it would be a chance to say 
‘hello’ and ‘good-bye’ to some of her friends. 
She is leaving to be away a month or more. 
Going to Atlantic City and New York with 
her mother. They were packing when 1 


48 


HOMING 


called. She says her husband insists that 
the change will restore her health!” 

‘‘A most thoughtful husband,” replied 
Rosamund Miles. ‘‘I feel rather relieved. 

I was afraid she would blossom out among 
us again in all her glory. When she is at a 
party she simply spoils my whole evening, 
because my husband just will make a fool 
of himself the minute he lays his eyes on 
her; he follows her around like a man hyp¬ 
notized.” 

‘‘I came upon them one evening out there 
on your balcony, and that poor boob of a 
husband of mine was actually holding Velo- 
ra’s hand and looking pensively at the moon. 
Not that she encouraged him, but some men, 
just like some women, must make fools of 
themselves, and poor Bob has arrived at the 
dangerous age.” 

‘‘Well, well,” laughed the hostess. ‘‘Who 
ever would have thought of you being jeal- 

•V ♦» 

ous? 

“Jealous?” shouted Rosamund in amaze¬ 
ment, “don’t be absurd Constance. You 
know very well I couldn’t be jealous; not of 
poor old Bob anyway, but I don’t enjoy 
being made a fool of. Somehow I believe 
I felt just the way Bob would have felt, if 


HOMING 


49 


he had come upon me, holding hands with 
one of his men friends.” 

‘‘Well, I am sure Velora is not a flirt,” 
replied Constance. ‘‘In spite of the fact 
that she attracts all the men around her the 

moment she enters a drawing-room; it’s 

\ 

only her exquisite beauty that can’t help but 
attract. It is not her fault, and one can’t 
blame the men either. She is very much 
like her nickname, the Golden Butterfly!” 

‘‘Golden Butterfly? Indeed!” piped up 
Eveline Lawrence in a thin sharp voice. 
‘‘She had better look to her laurels. I 
passed her on the street a few days ago, and 
she looked puffy and sallow; she looked 
more like a butterfly which is just ready to 
shed its wings and submerge into the cater¬ 
pillar stage.” 

‘‘The trouble with butterflies is, that most 
of them don’t stay butterflies, unless they 
die young. The most beautiful will only 
remain so for a short time, then they become 
fat, fuzzy worm-like creatures, and greedily 
feed on their appropriated food!” 

Eveline Lawrence was the dark slender 
brunette type. She had been a true South¬ 
ern beauty in her time, but there were shad¬ 
ows under her once sparkling eyes, and hoi- 


50 


HOMING 


lows had appeared in the once smooth 
rounded cheeks. Eveline, like so many 
others, had not discovered the secret of 
growing old gracefully. 

She was jealous of youth and bitter at the 
loss of her own beauty. Her sarcastic 
speech about the Golden Butterfly quite 
shocked Constance. 

“How perfectly horrible,” exclaimed 
Constance, “how can you have such a poi¬ 
sonous thought, Eveline?” 

“It may be poisonous, but it’s true,” re¬ 
plied Eveline. 

“Velora is not the type that will ever look 
really unattractive,” said Rosamund, who 
was a pretty young brunette, “but she is 
just a feather-brained little idiot, who 
doesn’t know any better than to have chil¬ 
dren. The inevitable result of that for her 
type is, that she will lose her figure and her 
husband at the same time, because the poor 
child will have nothing left to take the place 
of her physical attraction!” 

“Velora is one of those blanc mange, bon 
bon eating, French pastry loving blondes, 
who at forty, will spill over like a charlotte 
russe. She has begun to get puffy already,” 
said Eveline. 


HOMING 


51 


II 

Just then Velora was ushered into their 
midst by the old “Uncle Tom” of the family, 
who had opened the door of the Carlton 
house to welcome guests for over forty 
years. 

They had just finished four hands at the 
hostess’s table and were waiting, so they 
rushed forward to greet Velora. 

It was quite a different Velora to the girl 
who had come among them more than two 
years ago. She had rouged for the first 
time, so that her white lips and sallowness 
were concealed behind rouge and powder, 
but the shadows were still visible under her 
tired eyes. 

She looked much stouter because she did 
not dare to draw in her corset tight and she 
was obliged to wear a brassiere. 

As always she was beautifully and fash¬ 
ionably dressed, but in black; a soft cling¬ 
ing crepe meteor, which was most becom¬ 
ing. 

For the first time in many months Velora 
laughed and chatted with her friends in the 
usual way. She was in her natural environ¬ 
ment. 


52 


HOMING 


III 

The first Sunday in September was a most 
oppressive, sultry day in the Tennessee 
town; the sun shone blisteringly hot. 

In the old colonial house which the 
Blakes had called “Home” since their arrival 
there, the rooms were cool and comfortable, 
because of the wonderfully high ceilings and 
thick brick walls. The old-fashioned green 
slatted shutters of the high French windows 
were half closed, making a refreshing cool 
shade for the rooms. Trunks and hat boxes 
were packed and ready in the hall, and all 
was in order for Velora’s departure. 

On Saturday Stuart had arrived with res¬ 
ervations and railroad tickets; he had also 
brought home the balance sheets of the last 
three months of his road. 

He had rushed up to Velora’s room with 
more enthusiasm and cheerfulness than he 
had displayed in months. He would show 
the balance sheets to Velora; she surely 
would rejoice with him in the success of his 
business efforts; for the past three months 
the balance sheet showed an advance of 
twenty-five per cent in profits. 

He had knocked at Velora’s door: the an- 


HOMING 


53 


swer had been more like a muffled sob than 
a response. He had opened the door, en¬ 
tered, and beheld Velora lying there with her 
face buried in a pillow to smother the sound 
of her sobbing; hysterical. . 

Stuart had dropped his portfolio and 
rushed to the bedside. 

“What is the matter, Velora dear? Please 
tell me, he implored, and lifted her up in 
his strong arms. 

She lifted her face to his: she was tremb¬ 
ling in every limb. The startled look in her 
eyes alarmed him even more than her tears. 

Tell me, Velora, dearest; don’t keep me 
in suspense. Is there anything I can do?” 

Oh, Stuart, I am so frightened. I—I 
am to become a mother again, and this time 
I shall die; I know I shall,” she breathed. 
Before he realized it, she had fainted and 
was a crumpled little heap at his feet. 

He gathered her in his arms, laid her on 
the bed, and rang for Aunt Harriet. 

“Did yo' ring sah?” asked Aunt Harriet 
a few minutes later. 

“Yes, will you ask Mrs. Allen if she will 
please come here as quickly as possible? 
And will you bring some ice water and a 


54 


HOMING 


little brandy please, Aunt Harriet? Mrs. 
Blake has fainted.” 

‘‘Yes sah, yes sah, . . . poor chile,” 

mumbled Aunt Harriet as she hurried 
away. 

By Sunday morning, Velora had become 
quite normal again, under the practical in¬ 
fluence of her mother. She was a weak per¬ 
sonality ; she needed her mother for ally and 
support, now even more than when she had 
been a tiny tot learning to take her first step. 
Though utterly dismayed at the thought of 
the horrors of the birth of her first child, still 
fresh in her mind, her mother had a sooth¬ 
ing influence over her. 

The train which was to take Velora and 
her mother North, left at six-thirty Sunday 
evening from the Union Station. 

Under the newly discovered condition, 
Stuart was more pleased than ever, that 
Velora would be able to enjoy a change of 
climate and environment; he was really dis¬ 
tressed about her. 

After luncheon, with a pathetic little 
droop to her mouth and threatening tears, 
Velora suggested that Stuart drive out to the 
baby’s grave with her. 


HOMING 


55 


“The sun is so hot and I feel so weak, I 
don’t feel equal to the walk!” 

‘‘Certainly dear,” replied Stuart gently. 
He called the carriage, while Velora went 
into the garden to gather flowers to place on 
the little mound in the shadow of the moun¬ 
tain. 

The moss-draped trees hanging in dreamy 
silence over the river’s edge looked somber 
and mournful. The herd of cows which 
lazed underneath their sheltering shade 
looked out listless and sorrowful. 

The few cardinals and bluebirds fluttering 
about in the moss-covered trees, seemed 
only to accentuate the sad dreariness of 
things with their brilliant colours against 
so much gray drooping moss. 

Poor Velora! Under the torture of the 
great mental strain she had begun looking 
at things through drab-colored glasses in¬ 
stead of rose-colored ones. 

‘‘The City of Happiness is in the State of 
Mind!” 

IV 

They had been rather silent on the little 
farewell journey to the grave of their first 
born. Sometimes silence means so much 


56 


HOMING 


more than words. There are times when 
heart speaks to heart in silent sympathy 
more eloquently and more meaningly than 
a world of words. 

At the entrance Uncle Bill drew up and 
stood with bowed head, while Stuart and 
Velora passed through the gate and up the 
path to the monument bearing the sculp- 
tored baby angel. 

There Stuart stood silently, while Velora 
placed the flowers on the mound and wept 
quietly for a while; then he lifted her gently 
and led her away back to the carriage. At 
the gate she turned and looked back, a long 
last look, as though with a presentiment that 
this was a final good-bye. 

When they arrived home, it was nearly 
flve o’clock and Velora barely had time to 
change to her traveling frock and get down 
to the station. 

Velora’s mother was bustling around giv¬ 
ing instructions to Aunt Harriet about the 
household and attending to last minute de¬ 
tails. She had taken full responsibility of 
the house since Velora’s illness. 

There were as yet very few motor cars 
and they used a brougham and a pair of 


HOMING 


57 


raven black Kentucky horses, which was 
considered rather smart at that time. 

Uncle Bill was waiting patiently, holding 
the reins of the restless pair. 

Finally they were on their way to the sta¬ 
tion. Old Aunt Harriet stood at the gate 
and watched the carriage disappear in the 
gathering twilight. There was something 
mighty like tears in her dusky eyes, as she 
wiped them with a corner of her apron. 
She had become very devoted to her young 
mistress during those two years in which she 
had known her as a bride and a mother. 

V 

Stuart unquestionably had a peculiar per¬ 
sonality. Even as a youth he found it dif¬ 
ficult to express in words or action his ten¬ 
derness and sympathy for Velora, in private 
as well as in public. 

He was rather reserved, although she ap¬ 
pealed to his passion, which at intervals 
would break out impulsively. 

Some sensitive natures show a peculiar 
dislike of expressing themselves. Stuart 
was one of them. It was difficult for him to 
express himself, even to the being dearest 
to him. 


58 


HOMING 


As he grew older, he submerged much of 
his impulsive passion into a sort of chaste 
sanctity, a trait which evidently he had in¬ 
herited from his father. 

When it came to the parting with Velora 
at the train he saw to the comforts of both 
his mother-in-law —to whom he was really 
grateful—and Velora. The compartment 
was properly ventilated; a box of chocolates 
and magazines; the luggage conveniently 
placed; but, when the moment arrived for 
saying all the tender farewells she expected 
him to say, he just could not do it. 

He asked Velora to be sure and call on 
his uncle and aunt; to see his mother and 
father. Velora promised that she would, 
and bade him to take care of himself and if 
he should get lonely to send for her. 

“All aboard!” . . . 

Stuart grasped Mrs. Allen’s hand and, in 
his peculiarly cold manner, said: “I know 
you will take care of her!” 

Then he kissed his wife in a rather matter- 
of-fact way and disappeared. He ran up to 
the window of their compartment and lifted 
his hat, just as the train began to drag itself 
noisely out of the station. 

Stuart, bareheaded, watched the train 


HOMING 


59 


until it disappeared into the distance. Then 
he turned and walked slowly back to the 
awaiting carriage. Was there a look of re¬ 
lief in his eyes? If it was so then he had 
not meant it to appear so. 

“Home, Uncle Bill,” he said, gazing 
wearily into the distance as he started alone 
on his journey to the empty house he called 
“‘Home.*’ . . . 


Chapter 7 

I 

Ten days after Velora’s departure a tele¬ 
gram arrived from Stuart’s uncle. It read: 

“We have suffered the greatest panic 
Wall Street has ever known. Place Carlton 
in charge of your office and come to New 
York at once.” 

Two days later, Henry G. Slader met his 
nephew at the Pennsylvania station. 

Stuart was really shocked when he saw 
his uncle waiting at the entrance to receive 
him. His face looked white and old and 
drawn. The eyes which were always blaz¬ 
ing with enthusiasm and interest through 
his thick glasses had lost their lustre. 

The elasticity was gone from his figure; 
the firmness from his mouth; he looked like 
a man prematurely grown old. 

Stuart had seen his uncle only a year ago 
—when he had gone down South on an in¬ 
vestigation tour. At that time he appeared, as 
always, a man in perfect health, in perfect 
mental and physical condition. 


HOMING 


61 


His eyes, bright and full of the flame of 
enthusiasm; his athletic figure, lithe and 
supple; his mouth and chin firm; his whole 
bearing suggesting a man of deeds: a man 
who lived with dignity, proud of his accom¬ 
plishments and contented with life. 

But the man who extended his hand to 
Stuart now was not the same person. He 
was a very grave and broken man; he 
stooped as though he were carrying an in¬ 
visible weight on his broad shoulders. 

Stuart had read about the scene in the 
Stock Exchange; how it had become a pit 
of horror, filled with a mad, seething mob; 
how great fortunes, which had taken life 
times to build up, had crumpled and fallen to 
pieces before the terrified eyes of the 
builders. 

The newspapers blazed forth the news in 
letters of fire, how strong men had abso¬ 
lutely lost control of themselves; how some 
who had been in the midst of the panic and 
had seen their entire fortunes wiped out, 
had broken down completely and wept like 
children. 

How others had turned white-haired over 
night and how, finally, it had been decided 
that the financiers of Wall Street should 




62 


HOMING 


meet the next evening at the Waldorf-Asto¬ 
ria to discuss ways and means to bring back 
some semblance of order to the great finan¬ 
cial center; how they could repair the great 
shattered financial machine. 

Stuart had read the glaring headlines and 
long articles in the newspapers, but with his 
usual stoicism, he had thought how sensa¬ 
tional the American press can be: of course 
nothing could have been as bad as they had 
pictured it. 

Until Stuart saw his uncle, the real trag¬ 
edy of the situation had not dawned upon 
him. Even his uncle’s voice was strained 
and unlike him, as he greeted Stuart. 

“Glad to see you, old man,” said Henry 
Slader, as he clasped his nephew’s hand. 

“For the first time in my life, I seem to 
have lost my grip, my boy: of course it is 
only temporary, but I do miss my old self- 
reliance, and I feel that I need a comrade to 
fight by my side. You have no idea what 
terrible days the last two have been!’* 

“I don’t know yet just how I stand, but I 
know there is very little left, if anything at 
all” 

Stuart tried to smile, but it was rather a 
painful attempt. Somehow he seemed to 


HOMING 


63 


reflect the gravity of his uncle, but he man¬ 
aged to say in quite a cheerful manner: 
“Don’t worry, Governor, it will be rather 
fun to launch the ship once more with you 
at the helm and me at the oars. We are sure 
to bring it into the port of fortune with fly¬ 
ing colors, and with your experience as a 
captain, it should be pretty clear sailing.’’ 

‘You have, what I have lost, Stuart: the 
enthusiasm of youth!’’ His white care¬ 
worn face brightened a bit. 

“Perhaps you are right, only its hard to 
lose in a day, what it has taken thirty years 
of hard work to make.’’ 

II 

It was Saturday afternoon when Stuart 
arrived in New York. As they drove up¬ 
town in his uncle’s motor car, they discussed 
the business and the present situation. 

After dinner, until long past midnight, 
with pad and pencil, the two men sat grave 
faced and stolid. 

The next morning Stuart left New York 
to join his wife for the day at Atlantic City, 
promising his uncle to be on the job early 
Monday morning. 

He had glad news to take to his wife. In 


64 


HOMING 


spite of the Wall Street disaster he felt that 
all would be well. His uncle had offered 
him a partnership in the firm; they were to 
begin business under the name of H. G. 
Slader & Company. 

Stuart felt that the disaster had brought 
him good fortune, had given him his oppor¬ 
tunity. He looked upon his uncle as an 
empire builder, he had always felt the most 
profound admiration and respect for him. 
The very height of his ambition had been to 
become a partner of his uncle, and now his 
dream had come true. The fact that his 
uncle had practically lost his fortune of over 
four million dollars did not seem to affect 
Stuart in the least. 

His uncle had made most of that in 
twenty or thirty years without experience, 
influence, or the wisdom which comes with 
experience. Now he had something far 
greater than money, and something which 
no one could take from him: experience, 
wisdom, standing, and a great forceful brain. 

Creation had pre-ordained him to be a 
Captain of Industry—a Commercial Power. 


HOMING 


65 


III 

Velora was at the train to meet Stuart. 
He had sent her a long telegram of explana¬ 
tion. 

She expected to meet a very doleful and 
depressed husband, but was surprised to find 
him quite undisturbed and with a peculiar 
glint in his shadowy brown eyes. 

After their greeting she said, “Tell me 
the worst, Stuart, don’t keep me in suspense. 
I have of course read the papers and it must 
be terrible!’’ 

“It’s an ill wind that doesn’t blow some 
one good, dear,’’ he replied, with a boyish 
smile, which had grown a bit sad during the 
past few months. 

“Uncle will be able to save himself from 
bankruptcy with the assistance of friends. 
It will take some time to recuperate and pay 
up—but cheer up, my news is not at all 
bad.” 

“To begin with, we are not going back 
South. . . . Ah,” he exclaimed, as he 

saw her face light up, “I knew that would 
please you! We shall not be able to live 
in New York right away, but we can live 
near enough, so that you can be in touch 


66 


HOMING 


with your friends. I know you dislike liv¬ 
ing down South away from them all.’* 

“The best news I have is that uncle is 
taking me in as a partner. Its the one 
opportunity I have been hoping for. I am 
glad to have the day with you: there are a 
great many plans which we must discuss.** 
Velora had led the way to the bus from 
her hotel: they climbed in and were whirled 
away towards the beach. 


Chapter 8 

I 

Eight months later the Blakes settled in a 
quiet unpretentious modern cottage in 
Upper Montclair, awaiting the coming 
event of the stork with much apprehension. 

Mother Allen had gone back South to 
move the family belongings, and was able to 
coax the old colored servants to accompany 
her North. 

Velora insisted upon having Aunt Har¬ 
riet. “She was so kind and good to me be¬ 
fore,” said Velora, “I feel I could not get 
used to strangers around.” 

The cottage was comfortable and roomy. 
There was a garden and some fine old trees. 
Things were homey and cozy. ' 

Old Uncle Bill and Aunt Harriet bustled 
about, making the house immaculate and in 
order. 

Mrs. Allen had stayed with her daughter 
every moment she could; during the past 
eight months she had taken every precaution 


68 


HOMING 


for her health, but no matter how much she 
tried to cheer and comfort her Velora re¬ 
mained morbid. 

She had developed an acute apprehen¬ 
sion which expressed itself in weeping and 
doleful prophecies. 

“I know I am going to die, mother,” she 
wailed; ‘‘‘why should I have to die when I 
am so young and I love life so?” 

‘‘You are just wrought up and in an un¬ 
natural state,” replied her mother; ‘‘for 
goodness sake, try and cheer up; I am afraid 
your constant morbidness will affect your 
child.” 

But there was no cheering Velora up. 
There were purple shadows about her eyes; 
her face looked haggard and distorted by the 
fear of months. 

Stuart worked like mad all day in the city 
only to come home night after night to a 
weeping nervous wife. Yet he never lost 
patience, he was always kind and consid¬ 
erate; always gentle and sympathetic. 

There was one who kept smiling in the 
home; it was mother Allen. 

‘‘Whatever would we do without you, 
mother?” said Stuart, ‘‘either I am more for- 
tuate than the ordinary human being, or all 


HOMING 


69 


that rot about mothers-in-law being a hin¬ 
drance and a nuisance is wrong.” 

You have been most kind to me, as well 
as to Velora; I don’t know how to repay 
you,” said Mrs. Allen. 

Ill 

At dawn on the twentieth of April Miss 
Virginia Allen Blake arrived in this world, 
welcomed by a symphony of glad-throated 
feathered songsters, which offered a ringing 
greeting from every dew-hung bough in the 
old garden. 

Velora got on much better than anyone 
expected, and the child seemed perfectly 
healthy and normal. A great thankfulness 
was in the heart of every member of the 
household; the ordeal was over and all was 
well. 

Stuart was disappointed, because he was 
not presented with a son, but he felt a cer¬ 
tain compensation, when he saw how much 
the little girl looked like him. She had his 
dark brown eyes and black hair. 

He went to the office that morning with 
a lighter heart than he had carried in his 
bosom for a long time. 

April, the month of showers, proved to 


70 


HOMING 


live up to its name. For a whole week after 
Virginia was born, there was hardly a 
glimpse of the sun. The earth and the sky 
were dark and chilled; the plants were 
bowed down; the clusters of lilacs hung 
heavily with their burden of sparkling rain¬ 
drops. 

The birds called drearily from their wet 
nests under dripping boughs. 

Each morning Stuart would tip-toe into 
Velora’s room to say “good morning” and 
“good-bye,” and each evening he came to 
greet her. He never forgot to bring her 
something he knew she was fond of, some 
hot-house grapes, some fresh strawberries, 
a book, or some flowers. 

Velora would smile her thanks. “You are 
truly an ideal husband,” she once said to 
him, “and I am a hopelessly spoiled wife.” 

“You are nothing of the sort,” he replied, 
“you are really a very wonderful little 
mother!” 

He looked down admiringly as she lay 
among the soft white draperies with the 
child at her breast, the pressure of the baby’s 
lips, the clasp of its tiny hands. 

“What a wonderful picture of Mother¬ 
hood,” thought Stuart, “what a pity, that 


HOMING 


71 


only through the valley of the shadow of 
Death, can the miracle be achieved.** . . . 

On the sixth day, he came in to present 
his usual evening greeting. He found Ve- 
lora restless and impatient. 

How are you this evening?” he inquired, 
*‘you look a little tired, dear!*’ 

“If it would only stop raining, I hate 
weeping skies,” replied Velora; “I haven’t 
seen sunshine in an age!’* 

“You shall have sunshine tomorrow,** 
said Stuart, “I promise!” 

The face that smiled up at him from the 
dainty lace and ribbon boudoir cap, was 
white as the lilies of the valley nestling in 
their cool sheaths of green leaves outside. 
The sallowness had gone, but there was no 
sign of the return of the roses to her cheeks. 

Stuart looked at her rather gravely; “You 
seem to be recovering very slowly, dear! I 
think nursing the baby is sapping your 
strength. Suppose we ask the doctor if it 
isn’t possible to bottle-feed the baby; she 
seems a strong healthy child.” 

“It might be possible,” said Velora, “per¬ 
haps you are right; I will ask the doctor to¬ 


morrow. 


72 


HOMING 


IV 

One May afternoon, a month later, Stuart 
came home early. It was Saturday and his 
mother and father had promised to drive 
over from Valley View to see their new 
grand-daughter. 

He rushed upstairs the moment he ar¬ 
rived, as was his custom, but there was no 
one in the room. The house was strangely 
silent. 

For a moment he stood in the middle of 
the room with a puzzled expression on his 
face. The back window was open and the 
white swiss curtains fluttered out in the 
warm May breeze. Through the window 
came the sound of voices and laughter. 

Stuart walked over to the window and 
looked out. To his amazement he saw the 
whole family grouped out under an old 
apple tree in the back garden. 

Velora was reclining among rose-colored 
cushions in a big wicker chair. Mrs. Allen 
was seated in a lawn swing with her sewing 
basket on the seat beside her; his mother 
held the baby in her arms; she laughed to it, 
played with it and blew kisses into its soft 
little neck, with absurd pleasure, while his 


HOMING 


73 


father stood over it dangling his watch chain 
before the baby’s fascinated eyes, and Ve- 
lora looked on smiling. 

The last pink-tinted petals from the apple 
blossoms fluttered down about them, and 
the warm sunlight filtered through the 
branches. 

Stuart rushed downstairs and out into the 
garden to join the group and to welcome his 
mother and father. 

“The baby is the very image of you, 
Stuart,’’ his mother said after the greeting. 
“I should say so, hair, eyes, everything, even 
to her tiny sharp nose.*’ 

Stuart smoothed his hair back with the 
palm of his hand, a custom of his when he 
was thoughtful. 

“Yes,’’ he said, “as long as it is a girl its 
too bad she couldn’t look like her mother,’’ 
he smiled over at Velora. “You know I 
couldn’t exactly set myself up as a beauty, 
Dad! Oh well, maybe she will outgrow 
it: who knows?’’ 

Though Stuart would not openly confess 
it, he really felt proud of the little girl’s 
likeness to him. He looked down at the 
baby in its proud grand-mother’s arms, who, 
though she was only a little more than a 


74 


HOMING 


month old, opened her big brown eyes, 
waved her chubby little fists in the air, and 
cooed at him. 

The wind began to blow up a little chilly, 
and the family retired into the house. 

Stuart brought the family Bible to his 
father: “You see, Dad, we have taken great 
care of your wedding present. I wish, you 
would write the record of Virginia’s birth 
in the Good Book for us.*’ 

He turned to the page for the registration 
of births and offered his fountain pen to his 
father. 

There was a mist gathered in the older 
man’s eyes as he read on the top line: 

‘Henry Stuart Blake, Born March 10, 
19. .’ 

Underneath this record the Reverend 
Blake wrote: 

‘Virginia Allen Blake, Born April 20th, 
19..’ 

Then his eyes ran thoughtfully over the 
lines ruled off below to receive the registra¬ 
tion of later births. 

He handed the book to Stuart: “You had 
better let me christen the young lady while 
I am here,” he suggested. 


HOMING 


75 


“That’s a good idea, Dad. We will make 
arrangements immediately.” 

And in the gloaming of the late afternoon, 
Velora stood next to Stuart, while Mrs. 
Allen held little Virginia in her arms and 
they listened to the solemn and beautiful 
reading of the christening ceremony. 


\ 



PART TWO 





NOTE: TWENTY YEARS AFTER THE 
WEDDING OF STUART AND VELORA. 
MEMORY’S MIRROR. 

INTRODUCING THE MANSFIELDS. 


Chapter I 

I 

On a perfect autumn day while the city 
was reeking with the din and roar of the 
daily grind, Mrs. Mansfield sat calmly on 
the broad piazza of her suburban home 
awaiting the return of her husband from the 
turmoil and noise of New York. 

The Mansfield house was “forty-five 
minutes from Broadway,” and located on 

the side of a wooded hill with a lawn which 

■ 

sloped gracefully down to a beautiful little 
lake in which was mirrored all the quiet love¬ 
liness of a charming American home. 

Mrs. Mansfield was occupying her time, 
while waiting, by making up a list of names 
of friends to be invited to a dinner dance in 
celebration of her husband’s birthday; a 
visiting list was lying on a wicker table by 
her side, and her daughter Marjory sat next 
to it addressing the invitations. 

Marjory was eighteen, a modern Miss 
with rather a bored expression and, like most 


80 


HOMING 


modern young girls, a little blase, and while 
not at all unusual, yet quite attractive, 
though much more settled than her mother, 
who was a strong physical type and happier 
at forty than she had ever been in her life. 
She had managed to conserve her magnifi¬ 
cent figure, and was still as vivacious and 
just as much in love with her husband as she 
had ever been. 

The Mansfields seemed to be an extremely 
happy pair. Marvina and Bruce were known 
to their friends as two particularly fortunate 
people; their happiness was to be envied. 

They had a beautiful home. They were 
neither rich nor poor. Bruce was a partner 
in his firm—had just become a partner 
during the past year—and was doing a very 
comfortable business. 

Bruce junior was in his third year at col¬ 
lege, a fine, strapping chap, and so the 
egotism and natural pride which most every 
man has in reproducing his kind was grati¬ 
fied ; as much to the joy of Marvina as to 
that of her husband. They were indeed a 
happy family. 

At intervals Marjory and her mother 
would stop in their work and chat, or gaze 
at the serene beauty of their surroundings. 


HOMING 


81 


Marvina kept one ear open for the sound of 
the car on the driveway, the first announce¬ 
ment of her husband’s return. 

It had always been Marvina’s custom to 
meet Bruce each evening upon his return 
and always with a cheerful smile, a very 
easy thing when one is happy and contented: 
then an affectionate greeting—not a kiss— 
because Bruce had announced after their 
marriage that a man should not come out 
of a dirty train after a hard day in the city 

and kiss a beautiful woman. . . .“Not 

until he has cleaned himself properly,” he 
had said with his most engaging, boyish 
smile. 

So after the greeting, Marvina would 
always go upstairs with Bruce and perch 
herself on the side of the bathtub, while he 
removed his soiled clothes in the adjoining 
room, donned his bathrobe and joined her. 

During the process of dressing for dinner 
they always had their little chats about the 
day’s doings. 

II 

Suddenly there came the shrill blast of a 
motor horn. Marvina sprang to her feet 
and taking the list from the table, hurried 



82 


HOMING 


in towards the door. “There’s Dad,” she 
called to Marjory as she retreated into the 
house, “we will finish tomorrow.” 

Marjory leisurely gathered up the envel¬ 
opes and writing material, strolled into the 
house and up to her room to dress. 

The children were always amused at the 
boy and girl behavior of their Mother and 
Dad, and there was a smile on Marjory’s 
rather serious young face as her eyes 
followed her Mother out; it was more the 
enthusiasm displayed by her Mother about 
the coming birthday party than the way in 
which she rushed off to greet Dad, which 
caused the smile this time. 

“Will they never stop having birthday 
parties like a couple of kids?” mused 
Marjory. 

Marvina stopped just inside the living 
room to await the arrival of her husband, as 
the butler, a faithful old English servant who 
had followed his Master to America from 
London ten years ago, met him at the hall 
door. 

The butler, true to tradition had stayed 
English, but the Master had become Amer¬ 
ican; at least as American as a European 
can become, and so the following dialogue 


HOMING 


83 


floated through the heavy hangings to 
Marvina who, by the way, was a staunch 
and thoroughbred American, having been 
born in Kentucky—a daughter of Ken¬ 
tuckians. 

Ill 

“Good evening Master.” 

Good night!” was the answer, in loud 
peevish tones, and then, “Damn these 
Yankee trains anyhow. Who in hell said 
there was a coal shortage? I will swear 
there is no coal shortage on the D. L. and W. 
No wonder they can’t get the men to church 
in this community. Hell has no terrors for 
us after two rides each day in those d—n hot 
boxes!” 

“Sorry, Master,” replied the butler, as he 
started off with the brief case, hat and coat 
of the peevish head of the house. 

“Don’t be sorry, DO SOMETHING!” 
Bruce shouted after the retreating butler. 

“Thank you, Master. . . 

At that moment he heard a merry laugh 
from the vicinity of the living room. 

As he entered, Marvina rushed up to his 
side and put her hand over his mouth as she 
cried, “Dear me, what a rush of profanity! 


84 


HOMING 


There, I know you are tired and worn and 
all that, but don’t you say one word; just 
follow me.” 

And as Bruce struggled to mumble some¬ 
thing through the hand which was clasped 
over his mouth, Marvina dragged him out 
on the piazza with her free hand. Then 
she released her hold, and, with a sweeping 
gesture that might have been meant to in¬ 
clude the whole universe, she said, ‘‘Look 
at that; isn’t it worth anything when at the 
journey’s end awaits a quiet home amid 
such grandeur? Smell the fresh sweetness 
of autumn, look how beautiful the sunset 
is mirrored in the lake; look at the red, 
green and gold of yonder hillside, and— 
she smiled up at him—suppose instead of 
having all this you should have to go home 
to one of those New York apartments in a 
big stone fortress, not unlike your office 
building, and live between four dead walls 
all your life.” 

During this speech, Bruce had been taking 
in deep breaths of fresh, pure air; he felt 
much better already. He had taken in the 
view pointed out by his wife, and nodded 
his approval as he smiled down into her face 
and put one arm about her waist. 



HOMING 


85 


Bruce was one of those boyish middle- 
aged men who could never be cross for more 
than five minutes at a time, or serious for 
more than ten. He was also blessed with 
a sense of humor which was continuously 
bubbling over like a spring. 

You are right dear, and it is worth any¬ 
thing to hear you talk like that. Do you 
know that you could make a fellow believe 
all those beautiful things whether they were 
there or not?” 

So with half apology for his peevishness, 
he drew her to him and they entered the 
house and went up the stairs, arm in arm, 
for the usual chat in the bath-room. 

The bath-room in question was located 
between Marvina’s bedroom and her hus¬ 
band’s dressing room, so in the hall they 
parted and Marvina entered her bedroom 
while Bruce went to his dressing room where 
the faithful servant was awaiting him with 
bathrobe and slippers. 

Marvina powdered her nose and smoothed 
her hair while she waited for the usual 
confab in the bathroom. 


86 


HOMING 


IV 

“Well what’s new, dear?’’ 

This was Marvina’s cue to perch on the 
edge of the bathtub as usual, which she did, 
and, to the accompaniment of the running 
water she answered, “Oh, nothing unusual. 
It has been a very calm, beautiful, unevent¬ 
ful day. Marjory and I have been writing 
the invitations for your birthday party.*’ 

At this Bruce ducked his head into the 
basin of cold water, with the faucet still 
turned on full, a proceeding which always 
much amused and yet annoyed Marvina, 
because she just had to chat after the day’s 
separation. She could never wait to hear 
the news of the office and the community 
train gossip, and to talk and listen above 
the noise of the running water always upset 
her somewhat. 

Yet, Bruce always looked so funny 
when he extracted his face from the water 
that Marvina could never suppress her 
laughter. But today she said: Speaking 
of birthdays dear, I really believes these 
daily duckings you give your face into that 
cold water are accountable for it’s smooth- 


HOMING 


87 


ness and freedom from wrinkles; your face 
is as smooth and lineless as your son s.” 

“Yes,” replied Bruce, coming up for air, 
with his eyes closed tightly, and making a 
noise like a porpoise coming to the surface 
spouting, ‘‘that’s why I have kept up the 
treatment, and, incidentally”—he added in 
his usual boyish way—“it keeps the face 
clean.” Then, feeling for a towel: “Nothing 
like pure cold water to bring the freshness 
and glow of youth to the skin.” 

“Tell me, whom have you invited to the 
party?” came a rather muffled and jerky 
inquiry from behind the towel, as Bruce 
dried his face and rubbed the skin into a 
warm glow. 

“All the friends you like best,” she re¬ 
plied, and, as he took the towel from his 
face, she handed him the list. 

“There will be about thirty to dinner and 
about seventy-five will come in afterwards. 
By the way, I hope your partners will come 
as planned. Have they said anything about 
it recently?” 

‘‘Yes, 1 spoke to them today. Sheldon 
is coming, but Blake doesn’t think he will 
be able to come. One of his kids is sick, 
his wife has had an attack of acute indiges- 


88 


HOMING 


tion, and he was feeling rotten himself to¬ 
day; dyspepsia and a headache. His wife is 
taking the children down to Virginia Hot 
Springs for a few weeks.” 

‘‘That’s too bad,” mused Marvina: ‘‘you 
have been a partner since the New Year; 
this is October and I have not met any of 
the other members of your firm except Mr. 
Slader. I had hoped the Blakes would 

come.of course I want to meet Mr. 

Sheldon too, but then he is younger and a 
bachelor, and also new in the firm. I’ll bet 
he is glad he is a bachelor, when he witnesses 
all the trials and troubles of the married men 
about him.” 

‘‘Oh, I don’t know,” he replied, ‘‘I believe 
Blake is happily married. I have not met 
Mrs. Blake, but the picture of her on Blake’s 
desk shows a beauty of the blue-eyed golden¬ 
haired type; very pretty woman,” declared 
Bruce, putting the finishing stroke to the 
iron-grey hair at his temples, and, as he 
made an exit into his dressing room to get 
the clean shirt, collar and fresh tie laid out 
for him, he continued; ‘‘As for myself, I 
wouldn’t be unmarried for the world, you 
know that, don’t you dear?” 

Coming back into the bath room after 



HOMING 


89 


donning the clean shirt, with his collar and 
tie in one hand, he lifted Marvina’s face with 
the other and kissed her lips. “Love me?** 
he said. 

Marvina looked at him and smiled while 
he adjusted his collar buttons and tie, 
glancing in the mirror over the wash basin. 

You are just as full of blarney as ever 
Bruce! Just the same, it s good to hear nice 
things, and I believe there would be many 
more happy marriages if the husbands and 
wives would remember to say to each other 
every day; ‘I love you.’ I think most of us 
are likely to take too much for granted.” 

“Perhaps you are right, dear,” said Bruce, 
as he gave his tie a final tug after much ad¬ 
justing of the collar and facial contortion, 
“just the same, I can’t imagine Blake doing 
any such thing; you will understand that 
when you meet him.” 

At this point he entered his dressing room 
and slipped into his coat and vest, having 
changed his trousers before donning his 
bathrobe. He was now fully dressed, 
looking spick and span and as fresh as 
though he had not had a busy day in Wall 
Street. 



90 


HOMING 


“You see,” he continued, “there are many 
men who can do that sentimental stuff and 
get away with it, and others who would 
look like fools. I think Blake is one of the 
others; he is one of those cool-headed, prac¬ 
tical-brained business men, who can be as 
crude as h—1.” 

“Here,” Marvina interrupted, “I say 
Bruce, you are becoming most terribly 
American, you are swearing like a trooper; 

I shall be obliged to call you to order. Please 
copy the good qualities of our American 
men, and avoid their bad habits 1“ 

They both laughed. 

“Sorry dear,” Bruce said, “but its so 
expressive; you know, there is nothing in 
the world like it!” 

Here Bruce took his glasses from the 
window sill, held them up to the light, took 
out his handkerchief and began to clean 
them as he continued; “But to get back to 
the subject of Blake. He is the salt of the 
earth; fine fellow when one gets to know 
him. Just the kind of a fellow every firm 
should have in order to be a success. You 
should see him sit on the money box when 
the rest of us get bloated up with big ideas 
about branching out. Cold business man, 


HOMING 


91 


not like the type of a man you admire, dear, 
though I think you will like Blake just the 
same.” 

Too bad he is so much of a pessimist; 
likely to pour cold water over any flaming 
enthusiasm, and inclined to be a bit of a 
grouch, but there must be a cause for these 
faults, and once that cause is removed, 
maybe the faults will disappear.” 

‘‘Your Mr. Blake as described by you 
seems rather unusual, and therefore I think 
he must be a character worth studying. He 
was not too cold and matter of fact to pick 
out a golden-haired beauty for his mate. I 
am sure I am going to find him interesting 
too,” said Marvina thoughtfully. “Is he 
going away with his family?” 

“No, too busy just now, can’t get away 
from the office,” answered Bruce. 

‘‘Then perhaps he will come out anyway? 
The party is a week off; lots of chance to 
cure his dyspepsia and headache by that 
time.” 

Just then the first gong sounded for 
dinner. 

"Good gracious,” said Marvina laughing¬ 
ly, "1 haven’t changed; 1 have been 


92 


HOMING 


chattering away and have forgotten all about 
dinner.” 

‘‘Very well,” replied Bruce, ‘‘I will stretch 
my legs with a walk along the lake front 
while you change. And as to Blake, I will 
do my best to get him out. I am rather 
curious to know what you think of him.” 

Bruce adjusted his glasses, took a cigarette 
out of his case and departed, leaving his 
wife smiling after him. 


Chapter 2 

I 

The day which made Bruce one year older 
arrived and brought his new business asso¬ 
ciates on their first visit to ‘Awari.’ 

As usual Marvina was waiting in the big 
living room, this time accompanied by 
Marjory. 

The afternoon had been a bit chilly and 
a few hickory logs were blazing and 
crackling in the fire place, which gave the 
cozy room even a more homey hospitable 
appearance than usual. 

There was the sound of the limousine on 
the driveway; Martin hurried to the door. 
Masculine voices were heard in the hall and 
the hangings were thrown aside to admit 
“the Master of ‘Awari’ ’’ and his guests. 

After the usual introductions and greet¬ 
ings, Marvina addressing both Mr. Sheldon 
and Mr. Blake, said with her usual gracious 
smile: “It is so very good of you gentlemen 
to come all the way out here in the wilds to 


94 


HOMING 


help us cheer Bruce on his birthday. He 
was very much afraid you were going to 
disappoint us, Mr. Blake.” 

‘‘Not I,” answered Blake. ‘‘Beautiful 
place; the wilds seem to have been pretty 
well done away with. My old home is just 
a short distance from here; I did not realize 
it until we stepped off the train, and then 
as we motored along, I recognized some old 
familiar landmarks.” 

‘‘Really? That is interesting,” replied 
Marvina, ‘‘and it will furnish such delightful 
dinner conversation; I will see that you are 
next to me, so that I may hear more about 
it. And now I am afraid I shall have to 
rush you boys up to your rooms to dress for 
dinner. We dine at seven.” 

‘‘Early dinners and social affairs which 
end between eleven and twelve are more 
or less a necessity for our commuters,” she 
continud, ‘‘because of their having to rise 
early to make the train which takes the 
business men to their office at a respectable 
hour. If by any chance the ‘eight fifteen* 
be missed it would mean nothing short of 
disaster, as there are no other means of 
reaching the office before noon, except by 


HOMING 95 

motoring down. At least that is the case at 
Oakdale. 

She rang for the faithful servant and in¬ 
structed him to show the gentlemen to their 
rooms. 

At a quarter to seven, the hostess of 
Awari’ was waiting in the comfortable 
living room, robed in a black velvet evening 
gown, with a bertha of old lace as its only 
decoration, to receive her guests. 

A few moments later Marjory joined her 
mother, looking very sweet in a simple 
girlish dress of variegated golden shades 
blending in artistically with the decorations 
of autumn leaves and chrysanthemums. 

Bruce with Mr. Sheldon and Mr. Blake 
came down just as the guests began to arrive, 
so that greetings and introductions occupied 
the time until dinner was announced. Mrs. 
Mansfield moved about introducing people 
to her house-guests. 

The servant threw back the doors and 
announced dinner. 

“Mrs. Radsley allow me to present Mr. 
Sheldon, your dinner partner/* whispered 
Mrs. Mansfield, and left them to join Mr. 
Blake, who was standing nearby. She 


96 


HOMING 


slipped her arm through his and a procession 
formed slowly. 

II 

The lights glittered beyond; there was 
much light, but the soft mellow glow of 
candles^only. The center of the long table 
was banked with a profusion of yellow 
chrysanthemums and autumn leaves. 

When everyone was seated at the table 
and the first course served, Mr. Sheldon, who 
was seated near the host, rose and proposed 
a toast to Mr. Mansfield. 

“Good for you, Sheldon; I like to be made 
a bit of fuss over; it rather compensates one 
for growing old, you know.” 

“Sorry it has to be drunk in home-made 
wine, Mr. Sheldon; you see, when the prohi¬ 
bition clouds began to gather, our more 
fortunate brothers of wealth stocked their 
cellars, but all we could do was to plant a 

vineyard.However it’s not so bad,’’ 

said Marvina, lifting her glass and inspect¬ 
ing the ruddy glow of its contents. 

“Many happy returns of the day, dear,’* 
she said in a sweet gentle voice which ex¬ 
pressed more by its tone than the mere 
uttered words. 



HOMING 


97 


After the guests had joined in drinking 
the health of the host, the usual buzz of con¬ 
versation began. 

The bachelor partner proved to be very 
entertaining and started the merriment with 
a good story. “Apropos of your home made 
wine, and the fact that you are from Ken¬ 
tucky, Mrs. Mansfield, I think you will enjoy 
my pet darkey story.” 

Mr. Sheldon had a peculiar drawl that 
was rather pleasing, and without waiting for 
a response he went on with his story. 

“An old negro man was brought before 
the judge down in one of those old Kentucky 
mountain towns one day not so long ago. 
“What’s your name?” inquired the judge. 
“Ma name am Joshaway yo’ honor,” replied 
the old negro. “Joshua,” said the judge, 
“are you that Joshua who made the sun 
rise?” “No suh, yo’ honor, l’s dat Joshaway 
what makes de moonshine!” 

Such a story is sure to make a hit in 
these rather wet ‘prohibition’ days, so every 
one laughed and began chatting pleasantly 
with each other. 

During all this, Marvina had been study¬ 
ing Blake out of the corner of her eye 
without seeming to do so. She had noticed 


98 


HOMING 


that the story of Joshua had only caused a 
rather painful smile to enlighten his face, 
and then the not exactly bored but rather 
disinterested expression which he had as¬ 
sumed since entering the dining room, again 
settled over his countenance. 

Marvina turned to him now, and as the 
old retired admiral seated on her right was 
busily engaged in relating his experiences in 
the late war to the fair lady next to him, 
Marvina for the first time, was able to give 
her undivided attention to Blake. 

“Mr. Blake,’’ she said in her most frank 
open manner, “my husband tells me that 
you are a very serious quiet man, and that 
you don’t approve of frivolity. I hope all 
our silly worldly chatter doesn’t bore you!’' 

At this Blake looked up at her, or rather 
through her, for he had eyes that looked 
through the exterior down into the depth of 
the soul. 

‘Thank the Lord,’’ thought Marvina as 
she met the steady gaze of those piercing 
brown eyes, “that my soul is lily white— 
apart from loving the flesh pots and the devil 
a bit too much at times—because if there 
were a crime hidden there, this man would 
see it just as plainly as he can see the streak 



HOMING 


99 


of gray in my hair and the color of my eyes!” 

While these thoughts were going through 
Marvina s mind, Blake was saying, ‘‘Indeed, 

I am far from being bored, Mrs. Mansfield; 
besides you must not put too much con¬ 
fidence in what that husband of yours says. 
When he speaks of you, he generally uses 
somewhat the same terms.” 

Marvina was rather taken back at the 
reply as regards herself. Did he think her 
frivolous? However she hastened to reply, 
‘‘I always form my own personal opinion of 
a character, and 1 try never to form that 
opinion too hastily. By the way, I am 
anxious to know more about your old home. 
What is the name of the place?” 

‘‘Valley View; it can’t be far from here. 
I used to ride over here on my bicycle when 
I was a kid. About a half an hour ride on 
a bicycle, if I remember rightly.” 

‘‘Valley View? Why that is only ten 
minutes motor ride from here. The devel¬ 
opment company has just put a road through 
the wood down past the Valley View Golf 
Club. I have always thought it a quaint 
old place!” 


100 


HOMING 


III 

While chatting, Marvina had a chance to 
discover just what Blake looked like. As 
she studied his features, she tried to think 
of all the faces of great business men whose 
pictures she had seen in magazines. Did 
he resemble any of them? No, he did not! 

Marvina answered this question in her 
own mind, and then she tried to think of 
someone he might resemble. She remem¬ 
bered hearing her father speaking of James 
J. Hill, the great railroad builder. 

“One of the engineers who had taken him 
on a trip over the road was asked what the 
president looked like. The man scratched 
his head and explained, “Well it’s just like 
this—he looks like Jesus; only he is heavier 
set!** 

Marvina smiled as she remembered. 
“Well,” she thought, “it would not be near 
so easy to explain what Mr. Blake looks like, 
though he is a much humbler personage 
than the great railroad man.” 

It is strange how quickly thoughts can flit 
through one’s mind. 

Marvina had thought all this, while Blake 
had been saying, “Yes, it is a quaint old 


HOMING 


101 


place, and tucked away in remote corners 
iri the hills near there are some very pictur¬ 
esque spots.” 

At this point the lady on his left joined 
the conversation, and Marvina had a chance 
to continue her character study. Those 
brown penetrating eyes and that long 
pointed nose go with the face of analyst. 
He would make a better judge or teacher 
than a business man; however, it often hap¬ 
pens that we get tucked into the wrong 
pigeon hole of Life, and still we find that 
we fit fairly well in spite of the mistake. 

This man had the eyes and nose of 
Erasmus, who as everybody knows, was the 
great thinker and teacher of his time, but all 
these two men had in common was dys¬ 
pepsia, as far as Marvina had discovered up 
to the present. She noticed Blake had a 
broad high forehead: ‘‘Good brain,” thought 
Marvina. Thin straight lips: ‘‘determina¬ 
tion;” a rather prominent pointed chin, dark 
hair slightly wavy, and skin that gave the 
impression of being permanently sun tanned. 

After exchanging a few words with the 
lady who had addressed him, he turned to 
resume his conversation with Marvina. 

‘‘Do you know Mrs. Mansfield, it is re- 


102 


HOMING 


markable how beautiful this place has been 
made in such a short time. 

“Oakdale, huh—well it was not a dale 
when I used to cycle over here; it was called 
Hades Swamp,’ and that it what it was; a 
swamp, and it had the name of being inhab¬ 
ited by the largest and greatest variety of 
snakes in the whole State.” 

“Yes,” replied Marvina, “so I have heard; 
isn’t it a wonderful romance? The Ro¬ 
mance of Progress I would call it. Why, it 
is only eight months ago that the entire 
stretch of land across the Boulevard was a 
dense wilderness! One morning I looked 
from my window and there was a huge 
monster of a machine, tearing its way 
through the wilderness, puffing and blowing 
as though it were demanding that all things 
make way for the great wheel of progress, 
which seems to be turned ever onward by 
some great compelling force. I stood 
fascinated, breathless. Now there are a 
network of splendid roads, and see, already 
there are twinkling lights from modern 
homes, sending out their beacons through 
the gorgeous old oak trees!” 

Slowly Blake lost the uninterested, half 
bored expression and became attentive, and 


HOMING 


103 


Marvina could not help thinking that it had 
now come her turn to be studied. Her eyes 
were sparkling with enthusiasm as she fin¬ 
ished the sentence and waited for the 
response. 

You should be a great help to your 
husband in his business as well as in his 
home/’ said Blake. 

Marvina again was rather taken back by 
this; it seemed to have no connection with 

the topic of the conversation.But 

she was getting used to these unexpected 
answers, so she said: “What makes you 
think that, Mr. Blake? I have absolutely 
no business ability: I am an enthusiast, and 
a dreamer, who is forced by necessity to be 
practical, and—to my way of thinking— 
such a person is more or less useless!” 

“I am sorry to disagree with you. I 
think that the first four essentials to any 
kind of success are ‘brains, vision, enthus¬ 
iasm and inspiration.’ The first two a man 
has to be born with, the second two—almost 
as important—he usually gets from some 
one else. You are the embodiment of 
inspiration, Mrs. Mansfield, and you radiate 
enthusiasm!” 

“An analyst, a thinker and a sentiment- 



104 


HOMING 


alist,” mused Marvina, “how interesting. 

“It is very nice of you to say that, and I 
hope what you say is true. To be an 
inspiration to my husband would be a source 
of great joy to me, I assure you! But tell 
me, Mr. Blake, how long ago has it been 
since you deserted these New Jersey hills 
for the great Metropolis?” 

“About twenty years ago I should say.” 

“And haven’t you been back to visit 

• 11 
since? 

“No, strange to say, I have not: you see 
I have been a very busy man. I was just 
a country boy, and I was obliged to make 
my own way.” 

IV 

Marvina looked out through the big 
French window and saw a great silver path 
across the lake made by the full moon. On 
the impulse of the moment she turned to 
Blake, and said: “Would you like to get a 
glimpse of your old home by moonlight? 
If so, we can slip away unobserved, and I 
can motor over there; we can be back before 
we are missed!” 

She saw a sort of clouded happiness steal 
over his face, as though a rush of pleasant 


HOMING 


105 


memories were battering down the barrier 
of years and entering his mind at the pros¬ 
pect of again visiting his old home. 

“That is very thoughtful of you,” he 
replied, but really, I could not think of 
troubling you.” 

“Trouble!” said Marvina, ‘‘not at all; it’s 
a pleasure; may be a little unconventional; 
but 1 never care much about convention, as 
long as one is sincere and loyal to decencies.” 

“Now, we will have finished dinner in a 
few minutes, the guests will go up to the 
Oriental room on the top floor where coffee 
and cigarettes are enjoyed while these rooms 
are thrown into one for dancing,” she 
whispered. “You stay behind, and I will 
meet you at the entrance gate as soon as I 
can get away.” 

Blake actually laughed! A short low 
laugh with very little mirth, but nevertheless 
he had laughed, and with an exaggerated air 
of secrecy he whispered, “The plot thick- 

9 9 

ens. 

Marvina, catching the jest, laughed back 
and said, “Don’t fail me.” 

The dinner came to an end. Marvina 
rose, took Blake by the arm, and Bruce 
escorted the lady next to him up to the 


106 


HOMING 


Oriental room. The other guests followed; 
all except Marvina and Blake, who lagged 
behind like children up to some mischief. 

When the last guest had disappeared, and 
the laughter and chatter floated dimly down 
from the room above, Marvina said, “Your 
coat was left in the hall cloak room; you 
can get it and wait for me out at the gate; 
I will get a wrap and I shan’t be a moment!’’ 

Five minutes later Marvina was driving 
through the porte cochere as quietly as she 
could, when Marjory threw open the front 
door and stared at her mother in amaze¬ 
ment. Marvina knew that an explanation 
was inevitable, so she threw out the clutch 
and turned off the engine. 

“Mother, where ever are you running off 
to like this?’’ 

“For goodness sake, child, don’t stare at 
me as though I had suddenly gone mad. 
Youth nowadays surely does take itself ser¬ 
iously. 1 am only going to run over to 
Valley View to give Mr. Blake a glimpse of 
his old home.’’ 

“But, mother, suppose they miss you? 
The after-dinner guests will be arriving 
soon.’’ 

“Please,Marjory,I protest! I simply won’t 


HOMING 


107 


have you bossing me this way! Will you 
tell Dad if he misses me? The after-dinner 
guests will not be arriving for more than 

half an hour, and I will be back in twenty 
minutes.” 

She turned on the power, threw in the 
clutch, and the car leaped forward, leaving 
Marjory standing helplessly staring after 
the disappearing, gleaming tail light. 

V 

At the entrance gate Blake was sitting 
on one of the lower elevations of the stone 
wall smoking a cigar and apparently study¬ 
ing the name roughly carved in the 
unpolished field stone gatepost. The bright 
moonlight made each letter stand out 
clearly. 

He came forward as Marvina drove up, 
opened the door and sprang to the seat by 
her. 

“Strange name you have given your 
home, Mrs. Mansfield, ‘Awarf sounds 
Indian.” 

“Yes,” replied Marvina, “It is Indian; I 
have about one quarter Indian blood in my 
veins, and I am very much interested in 
their history, language, music and traditions. 


108 


HOMING 


The word ‘Awari* is Indian for My Heart’s 
Desire.* It had been the earnest desire of 
Bruce and myself to have a home in some 
quiet place by the water: not restless rolling 
waves, dashing madly on the shore, but 
quiet water like the beautiful lake over there 
slumbering in the moonlight.” 

‘‘So when we got our home here; we 
thought we at last had our hearts* desire, and 
that is what we call our home, though very 
few people know the meaning of Awari.* 

‘‘That is a most unusual name, and cer¬ 
tainly appropriate; shows individuality, and 
individuality is a splendid thing to possess.” 

‘‘Yes, I think that too,” replied Marvina. 

They were now speeding along through 
the quiet country and they might have been 
a thousand miles from New York, as far as 
quiet rural scenery goes. There was not a 
sound except the croak of the belated frog 
now and then, or the night call of some 
distant bird. 

Up to now it had been rather difficult to 
get much conversation out of Mr. Blake. 
He certainly was very quiet and non-com¬ 
mittal. He appeared to Marvina like a man 
hiding behind an unpenetrable mask; not 
for any real reason, except that he did not 


HOMING 


109 


care to have the general public too close to 
him. He did not want people whom he 
was not interested in to penetrate into his 
inner-being; to become acquainted with his 
real self. 

But out in the great silence of this quiet 
night soon the mask began to fall away; the 
silent man began to chat pleasantly and 
Marvina was glad, because she felt that she 
was about to be admitted to that forbidden 
shrine—the real self. 

“Do you know, Mrs. Mansfield, accord¬ 
ing to my way of thinking, in individuality 
lies Life's greatest charm, and through its 
medium a person’s character is easily read; 
the kind of clothes a man wears; the house 
he builds for his family; the furniture he 
places therein; all these things are an index 
to the character of him who lives therein, 
and those who love to dwell in quiet places 
among natural beauty, are usually people 
whose characters are built on a solid found¬ 
ation: lovers of the artificial are usually the 
fickle-minded and superficial." 

Marvina had been wrapped in profound 
attention. “I am very glad to hear you say 
that, Mr. Blake; it seems so good to have 
one’s own ideas confirmed by one whose 



HOMING 


1 10 

judgment we respect. From what you have 
just said, I take it that you do not live in 
New York from choice.” 

“No,” replied Blake; ‘‘I married a city 
girl, and when we were first married we 
spent two years in the South; after that I 
was obliged to take her out to the country 
to live; so that she had three years of trees 
for company and declared herself perma¬ 
nently tired of them. Indeed I am sure if 
it were possible Mrs. Blake would live on 
top of the Times Building.” 

‘‘Oh well, we can’t all be alike,” said 
Marvina, ‘‘but we who find sweet compan¬ 
ionship in the trees and flowers, and can 
commune with nature, are indeed fortu¬ 
nate.” 

Just here they were approaching a modern 
stone bridge over a rushing river. 

‘‘Suppose we slow down a bit here,” said 
Blake, ‘‘we are about a mile from the village; 
that bridge was only a ramshackle board 
structure when I lived here. Our place 
begins just on the other side of the bridge.” 

Marvina slowed down the car to its slow¬ 
est pace and they rolled over the magnificent 
white stone bridge. At the other end to the 
left was a big iron gate, flung open, and 


HOMING 


111 

stretching away from it, a beautiful lane 
which created curiosity, and seemed to invite 
inspection. 

On the gatepost was a name in faded 
weather-beaten, worn letters. One could 
read the words “Broad Acres,” though with 
difficulty. 

On the opposite side of the road there 
stood an old-fashioned cottage, white, with 
a balcony and porch across the front. It had 
green shutters thrown wide open, and, it 
was enclosed by a white picket fence. On 
a tiny wooden sign, nailed to the gatepost, 
was the name “Willow Cottage” and the 
huge willows made a picturesque bower to 
shelter this quaint old-fashioned home. 

“The entrance to our old home is through 
that iron gate: I see the new owners have 
not changed the name my grandfather gave 
it: ‘Broad Acres.’ 

They drove along slowly, and in a few 
minutes arrived at the village. Here 
Marvina turned around and started back. 

“It’s too bad your time is so limited; you 
must bring Mrs. Blake and the children out 
to see us. Come out and stay a week, or, 
if Mrs. Blake can’t stand it that long, then at 
least you can all come out for a week-end, 


112 


HOMING 


and you would have time to reminisce 

among the scenes of your childhood. I am 

just longing to go up that fascinating old 

lane with its lacework of oak branches for 

a canopy, with the blue skylight filtering 

through: it invites inspection; looks as 

though it might lead right on up to Heaven 
* » 

They were nearing the bridge again, and 
above the sound of the motor they heard a 
beautiful contralto voice. As they came 
nearer Blake said in a voice that betrayed 
emotion, “Would you mind stopping in 
front of the gate a moment?” 

The voice was clearer now, and as 
Marvina slowed down and ran close to the 
side of the road near the gate, the words of 
the song came plainly to their ears: 

‘In the gloaming, oh, my darling! 

Think not bitterly of me, 

Though I passed away in silence, 

Left you lonely, set you free. 

For my heart was crushed with longing 

What had been could never be. 

It was best to leave you thus, dear, 

Best for you and best for me.*. 

Thej' both sat entranced at the heavenly 





HOMING 


113 


sweetness of that beautiful voice floating out 
to them in the moonlight. 

Marvina turned to see whence it came, 
and through the cottage window she saw 
the mistress of ‘Willow Cottage,’ seated at 
the piano singing; singing apparently to her 
own soul. The soft light of the piano lamp 
by her side cast a gleam over her snow-white 
hair, like a halo; the face beneath the white 
hair, beautiful though mature, had no mark 
of age, and the light of a beautiful soul il¬ 
luminated every feature. 

Neither of them spoke; the beauty of it 
all inspired silence. 

The field of “Broad Acres’’ sloped down 
to a winding river; they could see its waters 
sparkling in the moonlight, a herd of cows 
lazed by its side. 

The last words of the song ended in a 
soft sobbing note, and then all was silent. 

Still neither of them spoke. Marvina 
thought Blake gazed a little longingly at the 
white-haired vision of loveliness, but he 
managed to keep his face turned so that she 
was unable to see its expression. 

Marvina started the car, and as they 
slowly moved away the singer began an¬ 
other song, and through the silence the 



' 114 


HOMING 


words so full of tender meaning reached 
their hearts: . . . 

‘Once in the dear dead days beyond recall, 
When on the world the mists began to fall, 
Out of the dreams that rose in happy throng 
Low to our hearts it sang an old sweet song, 
And in the dusk where fell the firelight 
gleam 

Softly it wove itself into our dream.’ 

Almost without realizing it, Marvina had 
stopped the car again to listen. 

‘Just a song at twilight when the lights are 
low, 

And the flickering shadows softly come and 

go> 

Though the heart be weary, sad the day and 
long 

Still to us at twilight comes Love’s old song, 
Comes Love’s old sweet song!’ 

Marvina had started the car once more, 
and the last words of the refrain reached 
them dimly through the distance like a half- 
forgotten dream. 

VI 

Marvina waited for Blake to speak until 
the silence grew oppressive, and it was she 
who spoke first. 



HOMING 


115 


What a beautiful voice that was! Did 
you know the lady, Mr. Blake?” 

Mr. Blake answered with the air of a man 
who had been forced to awake from very 
pleasant dreams, but was making an effort 
to use his brisk matter-of-fact voice. 

Oh yes, that is Miss Mary Langford; we 
went to school together! She was a pretty 
little thing, but very serious and rather 
saintly; in fact much too saintly, if that is 
possible. At school her nick-name was 
Saint Mary! When she graduated she took 
up music and became the village music 
teacher. Its too bad we did not have time 
to stop in to see Mary!” 

“Yes it is,” replied Marvina, “but when 
Miss Langford’s song interrupted us, I was 
asking you to give us the pleasure of a more 
extensive visit, and do you know, Sir, you 
have not answered me yet?” 

“That’s so,” said Blake, “I won’t know 
what Mrs. Blake’s plans are until she returns 
from Virginia Hot Springs, but I personally 
have nothing to do next week-end so if you 
will be good enough to allow me to come 
home with Mansfield next Saturday I shall 
be delighted.” 

“That will be jolly,” replied Marvina, 


116 


HOMING 


we shall expect you.” And with much en¬ 
thusiasm she said: ‘‘We will go for a stroll 
through Memory-land, the home of your 
childhood, and we shall have plenty of time 
to call on Miss Langford then.” 

‘‘It is very good of you to be so interested, 
Mrs. Mansfield, I shall enjoy going over the 
old place and showing you the mysterious 
lane in which you were so interested. There 
is a haunted house up that lane; it is on the 
left about two hundred yards up; it sets 
back in a clump of old apple trees!” 

‘‘How delightful,” said Marvina, ‘‘but is 
it really haunted?” 

Marvina had an inkling, that this was 
just a little subterfuge to get the conversa¬ 
tion turned from the subject of Mary. 

‘‘Well, it may not be really haunted, but 
as boys we were sure it was. We used to 
point out the holes in the old door and 
declare they were holes where the murderous 
shots had passed through! Of course, they 
were only worm holes, but children have 
marvelous imaginations.” 

Just then Marvina turned the car in at the 
entrance of ‘‘Awari.” The driveway stretched 
out along the hillside which skirted the lake 
for several hundred feet. At a sudden curve 


homing 


117 


in the driveway there was an arch, covered 
with vines, through which could be seen a 
crude stone stairway which apparently led 
right down into the quiet waters of the lake. 

As Marvina slowed down for the curve, 
Blake said: Would you think me very rude 
if I asked to be dropped here, Mrs. Mans¬ 
field? You see 1 so seldom get out in the 
open I would enjoy half hour’s quiet down 
there by the lake side.” 

Certainly, replied Marvina, and she 
stopped the car in front of the archway. 

Old Luna is doing her work well tonight; 
just see those swans sailing up that path of 

moonlight.It is really too beautiful to 

be real!” 

“Seldom have I viewed a more beautiful 
scene: this is surely an ideal home, and 
Mansfield is a lucky dog,” said Blake. 

“I thank you very much indeed for the 
glimpse you gave me of my old home. After 
all, it is very much the same: not much 
changed with the years! About the only 
change I noticed was in Mary’s hair; it used 
to be as black as a raven’s wing.” 

Before Marvina could answer, he had 
turned away and was descending the hillside 
by the rustic stone stairs tq the water’s 
edge. 




Chapter 3 

I 

When Marvina left Blake, she was obliged 
to bring her thoughts back to her own 
affairs, which she did with quite an effort. 

Rushing into the house, she noticed that 
it was just five minutes to nine. Under the 
palms in the sun-parlor, the orchestra was 
tuning up and trying their instruments. 

“Thank goodness they have arrived,” 
Marvina thought. 

On her way upstairs she noticed that the 
servants had thrown the two rooms into one 
for dancing as instructed. The beautifully- 
carved, highly-polished dining table had been 
placed against the wall, leaving the center 
of the big room free. A huge silver punch¬ 
bowl glittered in a forest of chrysanthe¬ 
mums, the candle light gleaming on the 
silver and touching the crystal with all the 
colors of the rainbow. The rooms had 
been turned into a fairy bower of beautiful 
flowers and soft lights. 

Marvina assured herself that all was well. 


HOMING 


1 19 

She rang for the servant and sent word to 
the orchestra to begin the first selection— 
that wonderful exotic waltz from Hawaii, 
“Drowsy-Waters’’. 

Then she threw off her cloak and rushed 
up to the Oriental room where she joined 
her husband. The strains of the first waltz 
came filtering faintly through the open 
door. The guests began to wind their way 
down in the direction whence the music 
came. 

“We must go down,’’ whispered Marvina, 
with her hand on her husband’s arm, “the 
after-dinner guests will be arriving; I think 
I hear a car on the driveway now!” 

Bruce looked at her with an amused smile. 

“Where have you been running off to, 
and with whom?” he asked. “Did you think 
I would not miss you?” 

“Marjory told you, did she? 1 was sure 
you would miss me; I will tell you all about 
it later.” 

They had reached the lower floor. Two 
or three couples were waltzing, and a few 
guests had just arrived, and had paused on 
the threshold, glancing around in search of 
the hostess. Marvina and Bruce came for¬ 
ward to greet them. 




120 


HOMING 


The guests now began to arrive very rap¬ 
idly and soon the rooms were filled with a 
merry throng of the community people, 
ready for an evening’s music, dancing and 
laughter. 

The hospitality of “Awari” was well 
known in the community. Its mistress be¬ 
lieved in happiness as a divine heritage. 

“God never intended that we sulk in the 
shadow! We would be much better men 
and women if we laughed and played a little 
more,” she had said to her husband one 
evening, when, under protest he was pre¬ 
paring to accompany her out to dinner. 

“I believe that a man who buries himself 
in his work with no thought of pleasure or 
reasonable relaxation, intent only on the 
duties of the daily grind, is a fool! He may 
leave an expensive tombstone to mark the 
hole he finally crawled into, but he never 
really lived all through those years he served 
as Mammon’s slave.’* 

Bruce had laughed; “Listen to our little 
philosopher! All right, dear, perhaps you 
are right; only it is so darned easy to get into 
a rut, and grow old and fossilized! ’ 

An evening at “Awari” was welcomed by 
all. There was always refinement, with 


HOMING 


121 


just a touch of Bohemia in the atmosphere: 
cares and troubles of the work-a-day seemed 
to pass away, and the people were able to 
give themselves up to the joy of living. 

The gathering consisted of men and 
women to whom life had conferred talent 
and social instinct rather than vulgar 
display. The atmosphere was soothing; a 
land of subdued lights and soft shadows; 
good refreshments: quiet, perfect service, 
not forgetting something in the flowing bowl 
of good vintage and familiar flavor. A 
gentle reminder of what prohibition might 
have been. 

There were always well groomed people, 
good music, smiling faces, and conversation 
not made up of empty platitudes. Everything 
and everybody typified that real refinement 
and latent gentility which accompany the 
practice and observance of the quiet niceties 

of life. 

Marvina was always a most thoughtful 
hostess. For those who had arrived at an 
age when dancing was rather a strenuous 
amusement she had arranged tables for 
bridge in the Oriental room, with most care¬ 
fully selected prizes for the winners. 

When everything was going smoothly, all 



122 


HOMING 


the guests had arrived and the dance was in 
full swing, Marvina mounted two steps of 
the broad staircase and, turning, swept the 
merry throng with her eyes to assure herself 
that everyone was happy, and that there 
were no wall-flowers. 

She saw Sheldon, the bachelor member 
of the firm, gliding down the room with one 
of the prettiest young matrons there. Then 
she glanced around in search of Blake; 
finally she saw him standing in the shadow 
of a French window which opened on to the 
piazza. 

She studied his face for a moment. He 
had replaced the mask, the mask that ex- 
pressed something between boredom and in¬ 
difference. 

“Poor man,” thought Marvina, “his soul 
has sleeping sickness! I thought it was 
dead until that ride in the moonlight!” 

She wound her way toward him through 
a maze of pretty women with jeweled 
throats, shining hair and gleaming should¬ 
ers, while the men stood aside and bowed 
as she passed as though she had been a 
princess. 

Blake looked up with that painful little 
smile as Marvina approached. 


HOMING 


123 


“Shall I find you a charming dancing 
partner, or would you prefer to play 
bridge?” she asked, lifting her eyes to his 
with a smile which she hoped would be con¬ 
tagious. 

After a moment’s consideration Blake 
answered languidly: ‘‘I think I will play 
bridge: 1 haven’t pep enough for these new 
foxtrots and tangoes.” 

“Very well,” laughed Marvina, “come 
along and I will introduce you to the bridge 
fiends!” 

At the stairway a gentleman came for¬ 
ward to claim the hostess, “This is our one- 
step, Mrs. Mansfield.” 

‘‘I had forgotten; so sorry,” apologized 
Marvina. “Have you met Mr. Blake, Mr. 
Lawson?” 

As the gentlemen shook hands, Marvina 
glance around in search of Bruce. He hap¬ 
pened to be standing nearby, so she called 
to him and said: “Bruce dear, will you 
please take Mr. Blake up and introduce him 
to Mr. and Mrs. Laurence and Miss Ewel; 
they are going to play bridge.” 

She smiled after the two retreating men 
as she was whirled away by her partner into 
the throng of merry dancers. 


124 


HOMING 


II 

When the last guest had departed, and 
the good-byes were all said, the tired hostess 
looked up into her husband’s face and said: 

“Oh dear, but I’m tired. However it’s 
worth being tired to see so many happy 
faces, and to hear so many lovely things!’* 

Bruce put his arm about Marvina’s waist 
as they turned from the entrance to the hall¬ 
way, through which the guests had taken 
their leave. 

“It has been a wonderful evening, dear; 
but your parties are always enchanting; its 
the charm of your personality.’* 

“Now, Bruce, that doesn’t sound a bit like 
an old married man! Besides, it is not 
really I who make the success; it’s because 
our friends are so charming; so responsive 
and appreciative.’’ 

They walked over to the divan near the 
immense fireplace where Marjory and Shel¬ 
don were seated. They were chatting 
away pleasantly and for the first time Mar- 
vina noticed the absence of Blake. 

“Why, where is Mr. Blake?** she in¬ 
quired, looking first at her husband, then at 


HOMING 


125 


Sheldon: “Now that I think of it, I did not 
see him at supper.” 

“He has retired I expect,” replied Shel¬ 
don. “Blake never eats late at night and 
he is rather careful about his hours!” 

“You sit here for a moment dear, and I 
will have a look,” said Bruce. 

Marvina dropped down beside Marjory 
on the divan, and sighed softly; a tired 
happy little sigh, as she kicked off first one 
little black satin slipper then the other, while 
prim little Marjory gave her mother a look 
of decided disapproval. 

“Please pardon my very unconventional 
behavior, Mr. Sheldon,” said Marvina, “but 
I have such hurty feet, I can’t stand it an¬ 
other minute.” 

“I am not at all surprised,” replied Shel¬ 
don. “Please make yourself comfortable, 
Mrs. Mansfield. I have been watching you 
during the evening, and I have been wonder¬ 
ing how on earth it is possible for one wo¬ 
man to have so much energy and vitality. 
It seemed to me that you managed to be 
everywhere looking after everybody at the 
same time. It has been a very happy even- 


126 


HOMING 


ing indeed. What a beautiful voice Mrs. 
Reed has!” 

“Mrs. Reed? Oh yes, she sang ‘Smilin’ 
Through’ . . . her voice is divine.” 

Just here Bruce entered, interrupting the 
conversation. “I found the poor fish in 
bed—all the lights out and shades up—en¬ 
joying the moonlight. I had no idea Blake 
was so fond of scenery,” Bruce chuckled 
pleasantly. ‘‘He is figuring out how to get 
ahead of the other fellow in the Street to¬ 
morrow. . . . Speaking of moonlight, 

Sheldon, it’s a wonderful night, shall we 
just take a smoke and a short constitutional 
in the garden before turning in?” 

‘‘Not a bad idea,” replied Sheldon, ‘‘It cer¬ 
tainly must be conducive to refreshing sleep 
to retire with one’s lungs filled with this 
pure fresh air.” 

They all rose. ‘‘Good-night, Mrs. Mans¬ 
field, and I thank you for the happiest even¬ 
ing I have had for years.” 

‘‘Just a moment, mother,” said Marjory, 
and I will fetch your bedroom comfies.” 

She said a hurried “good-night” to Shel¬ 
don, and started off with the little black slip¬ 
pers in the direction of her mother’s room. 

Marvina was left alone. . . . She 



HOMING 


127 


sat gazing thoughtfully into the fire . . . 
the last log flamed up as it broke in the cen¬ 
ter, sending up a shower of tiny sparks. 

“Was the man, lying up there in the 
moonlight flooded room, just a human Wall 
Street machine? Was he only a symbol of 
the great army of human machinery which 
makes up the foundation of the world’s 
commerce?” 

Marjory came down with her mother’s 
bedroom slippers. Slipping her feet into 
them, Marvina thanked Marjory and kissed 
her “good-night.” Then she pondered on. 
• • • 

“Is he puzzling out how to continue the 
everlasting struggle, as Bruce suggested?” 
Marvina did not think so. “He looked so 
tired; perhaps his old shell is so exhausted, 
that it permits his sleeping soul to wander 
at will.” 

“Perhaps memory recalls other moonlight 
nights of youth and romance; maybe his 
mind is traveling wearily over the interven¬ 
ing years, and he is living again to-night 
through all the joyful days of boyhood.” 
• • • 

Under the restful influence of her 
thoughts Marvina leaned her head back on 


128 


HOMING 


the rose-colored velvet cushion. 

Pleasant thoughts are lulling and soothing 
when one is tired. 

p 

When Bruce came in half an hour later 
he found Marvina in slumber-land: a happy 
smile on the half-parted lips. 


Chapter 4 

I 

Stuart Blake was going out on Saturday 
to visit those scenes of his childhood—to¬ 
morrow. How near and yet how far away 
it seemed to this soul-sick man. 

Through every hour of the cares and du¬ 
ties, rush and buzz of the office routine, was 
present that eager anticipation. 

Saturday was a perfect autumn day; just 
cold enough to give the blood that healthy 
tingle and invite a tramp through the woods 
and sunlit fields. 

Marvina met the three o’clock train to 
personally welcome the week-end guest. 
She motored up just as the train pulled in, 
and a stream of commuters began to pour 
forth from every exit and hurry toward 
their cars or taxis. 

Bruce saw the car at the end of the long 
line of vehicles and led his guest toward it. 
The two men greeted Marvina most cor¬ 
dially. 

“So nice of you to fetch us, dear,’’ said 


130 


HOMING 


Bruce, who never forgot to be pleasingly 
courteous to his wife. 

“I was anxious to drive the car myself 
replied Marvina; “I wanted to give Mr. 
Blake a better view of Oakdale; he saw so 
little of it the last time he was out here. 1 
thought I would drive home by way of Hill- 
top avenue; one can almost see the New 
York skyline from there on a clear day like 
this, and every part of the residential park 
is visible from there.” 

"You have no idea with how much pleas¬ 
ure I have been looking forward to this little 
outing, Mrs. Mansfield,” said Blake with his 
painful little smile; “this air is wonderful; 
I would like to spend my future vacations in 
a place like this; of course Mrs. Blake would 
not like it, its too quiet for her.” 

“We are so glad to have you with us 
again,” replied Marvina. “You must bring 
Mrs. Blake out to see us as soon as she re¬ 
turns; she may like it better than you 
think!” 

In a few moments they were gliding along 
over familiar hills; they passed through a 
deep ravine and then climbed the lordly 
heights of Hilltop avenue. As they reached 
the highest point, Marvina stopped the car, 


HOMING 


131 


turned off the power and was silent for a 
moment; then she turned and addressed the 
two men. 

Do you feel the restful influence of the 
quietness?’’ she said. “To me it is im¬ 
mensely soothing; listen, there is not a 
sound to be heard except the rustle of the 
leaves, and they seem to whisper a gentle 
welcome to tired hearts.’’ 

A 

Bruce looked at his wife and smilingly 
said, partly in jest and partly seriously: 

“My poetical princess, if you keep that 
up, you will make a sentimentalist even out 
of Blake.’* 

Blake did not hear this; he had alighted 
and walked to the edge of a precipice: he 
was viewing the scene before him. He did 
not try to see the New York skyline which 
was dimly visible in the distance; his eyes 
were directed toward “Valley View, that 
glad, smiling valley with its silvery river 
winding its way to the sea. The hillsides 
and the glades were clad in robes of blazing 
glory ... the great red oaks; the 
flaming maples and the sweet smelling pines 
of emerald green. 

This careworn wanderer was standing on 


132 


HOMING 


the hilltop of life, looking down at the sun- 
kissed fields of his childhood. 

Bruce and Marvina smiled knowingly at 
each other and waited. 

Presently Blake came back and climbed 
to his seat. 

“Marvelous; perfectly wonderful,” he 
said. “I had forgotten how beautiful this 
was, and all these beautiful homes with their 
magnificent gardens! Why, it has sprung 
up like magic.” 

“Yes,” said Bruce, “we are very proud 
of it all. You should build yourself a home 
up here; we would like to have you for a 
neighbor.” 

But Blake shook his head, and with that 
painful little smile said: “No, Mrs. Blake 
would not like it.” 

II 

Marvina threw off the brake without 
starting the engine, and the car went gliding 
noiselessly down the hillside. At the bot¬ 
tom of the hill she turned on the power and 
whirled around the bend to the Boulevard 
and through the gates of “Awari.’ As they 
rolled up under the porte cochere the faith¬ 
ful Martin appeared at the door to receive 


HOMING 


133 


the arrivals, and to attend the guest to his 
room, lay out his clothes, and look after his 
comforts. 

Blake threw open his window and 
breathed in the cool autumn air, thrusting 
his head out for a sight of the beautiful lake 
which gently kissed the shore below, as it 
sparkled in the sunshine and reflected the 
heavenly blue of the sky. 

A servant announced that tea was served 
in the sun parlor. 

In a few minutes the family and guests 
had gathered in the cozy big room with its 
big picture windows overlooking the lake 
and the garden, with its little feathered song¬ 
sters holding a concert among the profusion 
of autumn flowers and foliage. 

After a pleasant half hour’s chat over the 
teacups, Bruce announced: 

“I am going to fish; I caught a beautiful 
bass yesterday right in front of the landing 
place. That makes the ninth one I have 
caught this season, and most of them were 
five pounders. Great life, Blake, when a 
fellow can go out and pull them in like that, 
while standing right on his own grounds.” 

“You can’t put those fish stories over on 


134 


HOMING 


me, Mansfield,” replied Blake, ‘‘you’ll have 
to show me!” 

‘‘All right,, come along. 

‘‘No, Bruce dear,” interrupted Marvina, 
‘‘Mr. Blake came out purposely to go over 
to his old home, and its such an ideal after¬ 
noon, I think he would like to go now. 

t» 

• • • 

So it was planned that Marjory and her 
girl friend would go canoeing as they had 
previously arranged. Bruce was to take his 
beloved fishing rod and go forth with great 
expections, and Marvina with Blake would 
motor over to ‘‘Valley View” and call on the 
silver-haired songster, Miss Langford. 


Chapter 5 

I 

% 

In the brilliant sunshine of the late after¬ 
noon all the dear old rustic landmarks stood 
out clearly as Marvina and Blake motored 
along the beautiful newly constructed sweep 
of road which led to his native village. 

When they had come into view of that 
familiar panorama of rural loveliness, with 
all its rustic charm, known as “Valley 
View,” Blake said to Marvina, pointing to a 
little stream, half hidden by the under¬ 
growth : 

“I dreamt last night that I was a boy 
again, and that I was wading barefoot up 
that stream. I am not so sure that I care 
about it now, but it was great fun then. 
What is that strange fascination which 
childhood gives the merest commonplace; 
that strange immaculate fragrance which is 
a life-long memory?” 

“I don’t know; it is something we cannot 
put into words,” replied Marvina—very 


136 


HOMING 


much of a sentimentalist herself; “in my 
treasure chest of memories, the memories of 
my childhood are by far the brightest 
jewels!” 

They were silent again as they moved 
slowly on. Suddenly Blake called out: 

“There is Mrs. Newolds, where my 
mother has often taken me to visit, and 
where I always got those wonderful hot bis¬ 
cuits and wild honey. . . . And 

there” . . . His voice seemed to fal¬ 

ter. 

They had arrived at the old-fashioned cot¬ 
tage, with its picket fence and old well with 
its oaken bucket. ... In the corner of 
the garden was Mary Langford; the little 
Saint Mary with her soft silver hair tossed 
by the sunlit air; dressed in a simple jersey 
cloth frock of dark amethyst color, with an 
exquisite little collar of hand-made lace 
open at the throat. 

Mary was gathering chrysanthemums; 
her arms were filled with the fragrant blos¬ 
soms of white and purple. Just as she 
reached over a cluster of shrubbery to pick 
a particularly beautiful white bloom, Blake 
leaned over the gate and called: 

“Hello, Mary!” 


HOMING 


137 


Mary s hand paused in its pursuit of the 
desired blossom, but only for a moment; 
then proceeded, gathered in the flower and 
reached for another. She had not noticed 
the car pull up at the gate and stop; the 
noise of the other cars passing had kept her 
from hearing, and as her back was towards 
the road, she had not observed anyone ap¬ 
proaching. She had undoubtedly heard the 
greeting, because there had been that pause. 
She had heard that familiar greeting many 
times in her day-dreams during the past 
twenty years, and no doubt had thought that 
it could only be her imagination. 

Marvina sat quietly in the car and looked 
on: this coming reunion, or at least meeting 
and greeting of old sweethearts after twenty 
years, was food for her romantic soul. 

Blake hesitated a few moments and as 
Mary did not respond, he repeated his greet¬ 
ing—this time a little louder. Mary turned 
slowly around and faced the man leaning 
over the gate . . . then, without a 

word, she moved straight toward him. As 
she advanced over the smooth grass, she 
clung to her armful of flowers as though 
seeking a support—something to cling to. 
She came forward as in a dream, but with a 


138 


HOMING 


gentle grace and dignity such as one seldom 
sees: her face a most wonderful study of j[oy 
and delighted surprise as she put out her 
hand and gently touched his, not in greeting, 
but to assure herself that she had seen cor¬ 
rectly, and then: 

*‘Stuart,” she breathed, “is it really you?” 

“It is really I,” he answered, extending his 
hand, “and it is refreshing to be here after 
all these years. The years, by the way, 
have been very kind to you!” 

She lifted her great hazel eyes to his and 
seemed to study his face for a moment; then 
she said: “You have not changed so much 
in appearance, but you have changed; what 
the change is, I don’t know . . . how¬ 

ever, your voice remains the same. But 
tell me, how came you here? This is in¬ 
deed a pleasant surprise.” 

“My partner lives over in the new resi¬ 
dential park, ‘Oakdale’; I am visiting him. 
Come and meet his wife!” He opened the 
gate and nodded toward the car. 

II 

The two women shook hands most cor¬ 
dially; they seemed to like each other at 


once. 


HOMING 


139 


It is a fascinating country around here 
among these beautiful old hills and valleys,** 
said Marvina; “I take great pleasure in be¬ 
ing able to bring Mr. Blake back to the 
scenes of his childhood! As a reward he 
has promised to show me all the fishing 
streams, swimming pools and ice lakes about 
the place, not forgetting the old colonial 
farm house and the gardener’s haunted cot¬ 
tage.” 

‘‘But that will take longer than one after¬ 
noon,” replied Miss Langford. 

‘‘Oh, well, we have tomorrow, and the 
Mansfields have promised that I might be¬ 
come a sort of member of the family, and 
come out anytime—or as often as I like!” 

“Surely,” replied Marvina, “and we hope 
to find you taking advantage of the invita¬ 
tion. Come, Miss Langford, won’t you join 
us? We are going up to explore the old 
homestead. I hear the people who have 
bought it for a summer home are now so¬ 
journing at their chateau in France. ’ 

“Thank you so much! I would like to 
come along: if you will wait until I put my 
flowers in water and get a wrap,” said Miss 
Langford; “1 am so afraid of a frost tonight; 
I was trying to gather most of the flowers!” 



140 


HOMING 


Marvina agreed with a smiling nod. 
Blake opened the gate and Mary vanished 
through the cottage door. 

Mary was tall and graceful; she had a 
beautifully molded breast; a waistline that 
was just a bit too tapering for the present 
day style; small feet and hands; but her 
principal beauty was her transparent rose- 
tinted skin, accentuated by that soft silvery 
hair and those great sad eyes, with the 
shadow of a smile lurking in their depth. 
Her greatest charm was her low musica 
voice. 

She came back almost instantly, wearing 
a tight-fitting little sport hat of amethyst 
and gray wool, and a heavy gray sport coat. 

Blake helped her into the back seat of the 
car and took the place beside her. Marvina 
started the motor and turned in through the 
big iron gate and up the oak canopied lane 
which led to the old homestead. 

They passed along under the lacework of 
scarlet-tinted leaves, the flaming sun 
lighting up the sparkling brooks and fine old 
trees, and casting a thousand fantastic shad¬ 
ows in their path. 

“Wonderful, wonderful,” breathed Blake, 
“how could I have stayed away so long?” 


HOMING 


141 


If old Mother Fate had not taken you by 
the hand and led you back, I suppose you 

would have stayed away forever?” said 
Mary. 

“Well, I give a vote of thanks to old 
Mother Fate,” replied Blake; “its about 
time she showed me a bit of kind consider¬ 
ation,” he continued a little bitterly. 

Mary looked at him in silence. Was this 
the happy care-free boy she had known in 
childhood; the young man who had gone 
away twenty years ago—when he was 
twenty-one and she was nearly seventeen? 

How well she remembered the last time 
she saw him. The personification of Youth 
and Manhood! Well and strong and self 
reliant; ready to face the world with cheer¬ 
ful courage. Happy Stuart; ready always 
with a funny story or a joke 
what a mixture he was then, of tenderness, 
common-sense, poetry and seriousness. 

Was this silent man sitting by her side the 
same Stuart? This man who had forgotten 
how to laugh; who wore the mask of ambi¬ 
tion, with those sharp features, as though 
they were engraved in steel; those coldly in¬ 
telligent brown eyes; thin lips closed firmly 
like a vise. 


142 


HOMING 


A flicker of memory flashed through her 
mind as they passed over the old familiar 
playgrounds of their youth. A vision of 
the Stuart she had loved with all her wo¬ 
man’s heart; the man for whom she had 
worn a dagger through her heart all these 
years. 

She had loved him with the supreme emo¬ 
tion of the very essence of her soul: though 
her spirit was of the finer, higher sphere; 
though she loved music, the songs of the 
birds, the laughing bubbling brook and the 
sweet smelling woods, she had always beer 
a woman of the flesh. 

God had given her a Madonna face, a 
velvet voice and a gentle soul. These con¬ 
cealed that tortured inner longing for love; 
the love of this man whom all these years 
she had thought of in adoration. Her body 
had ached for the embrace of his arms; her 
lips had burned for the kiss of his mouth. 

And there he sat, apparently as 
calm as the “Great Gawd Budd,’’ and as cold 
as the snows on a mountain top which never 
melts, though they receive the first warm 
kiss of the sun. 

What was going on under that hard cold 
mask? 


HOMING 


143 


And there sat Mary, also outwardly calm ; 
her face more Madonna-like than ever 
under its crown of silver hair. 

Ill 

The lane turned sharply as it led to a 
higher elevation, and Marvina had to shift 
into second gear quickly and use great skill 
in handling the big touring car to make the 
almost perpendicular hill. 

Mary and Stuart had been chatting about 
things they were NOT thinking about, in 
order to conceal their real thoughts, and 
choke back the emotion which was almost 
impossible to control. 

Suddenly there appeared through the 
trees a little low cottage in the midst of a 
dead orchard; the trees stretched their long 
bare gray limbs skyward like the bleached 
skeletons of long unburied bodies. 

The first glimpse of the little brown 
weather-beaten cottage with its hollow 
glass-less windows, like vacant eye sockets, 
produced an unsufferable sense of gloom. 

“The haunted house still stands I see/ 
said Blake, as he pointed out the cottage 
clinging to the hillside among its decayed 

trees. 


144 


HOMING 


“Tell me, Mary, is it still haunted?’’ 

“So they say,’’ replied Mary, “the story 
is so sad and weird, I always shudder when 
I think of it.’’ 

Marvina felt the thrill of that half-pleas¬ 
urable, half-fear sensation, that comes to us 
even in viewing the most desolate or terri¬ 
ble, because of the poetic, the sentiment 
The greater the tragedy, the more human 
interest it seems to inspire. 

“May we stop and go through it, and will 
you tell me the story ’’ inquired Marvina 
“it looks so interesting.’’ 

“Certainly,” replied Blake, “if you don’t 
mind listening to weird things.” 

Marvina stopped the car and pulled on the 
emergency brake; Blake alighted and helped 
the ladies out of the car. Marvina sug¬ 
gested putting a stone under one of the back 
wheels, as the hill was steep and there was 
danger of the car slipping back. 

Blake found two large stones and placec 
one under each back wheel and the party 
started towards the melancholy little house 
along a tiny winding path, almost over¬ 
grown with now faded goldenrod and wild 


vines. 


HOMING 


145 


As they walked up the path Blake begar 
to relate the story of the little haunted house 

IV 

“I think I was about ten years old wher 
the tragedy happened, * he said. "Down in 
the village there lived a young Italian; his 
name was Silvio Maroncello. Silvio under* 
stood growing vineyards and handling prod¬ 
ucts from the farm; he also was an expert 
dairyman, and when he asked my father foi 
a position as foreman on the place, he was 
accepted at once.’’ 

“He had been with us about a year when 
he married a buxom girl from the village. 
The girl’s mother kept a boarding-house in 
the village for the working class, and it was 
there that Silvio first met his wife. He was 
typical of his race and very musical; he 
always went whistling and singing about his 
work, as happy as the birds which sang in 
the trees above him. Sometimes he would 
whistle an air from an old Italian opera 
sometimes he would hum a popular song. 

“He was tall and slight; his expression 
was animated and full of intelligence, and he 
spoke hurriedly and gesticulated exces¬ 
sively.” 


146 


HOMING 


“I remember this particularly on one oc- 
casion when a lot of us boys were helping 
ourselves to some choice bunches of grapes 
and were discovered by Silvio; he had e 
way, when he got excited, of suddenly 
breaking in to a rapid flow of Italian, forget¬ 
ting that he could not be understood, but 
we understood enough to take to our heels.” 

‘‘Silvio loved deeply the little fair-haired 
nonentity whom he had brought here as his 
bride, and he expected and exacted the same 
love and devotion from her.” 

‘‘My father had this little cottage built for 
them, and Silvio planted the orchard you see 
there, and the vineyard just beyond, which 
now lies in ruin also.” 

They had reached the cottage now anc 
stood facing the doorway of the main en¬ 
trance. The door was hanging by one 
rusty hinge, swaying slightly in the wind 
There was an iciness, a sinking sickening 
feeling of the heart which overshadowed the 
whole party as they stood there amid the 
scene of that tragedy of humble life so many 
years ago. 

Stuart continued his story: ‘‘Everything 
went well with the happy couple for the first 
two years. The little cottage was a humble 


HOMING 


147 


pretty picture of domestic bliss. But the 
Italian loves a family; he loves babies; they 
are people of large families, so when after 
two years they remained childless Silvio 
became changed, he grew irritable and in¬ 
different. The brainless little village girl 
grew more miserable each day; she went tc 
her mother for consolation, but her mother 
was too busy. Yet she went; first once a 
week and then twice a week, and finally 
every other day.’’ 

“There was a young Irishman boarding 
at her mother’s house. He had laughing 
blue eyes and a sunny disposition and it was 
Madge to whom he gave all his sympathy 
The girl did not mean to drift, but she was 
just a primitive little idiot, and sympathy 
was so sweet. . . . She longed to be¬ 

come a mother; she had not the faintest idea 
why this happiness had been denied her 
She bitterly resented the fact that her hus¬ 
band blamed her, and though she had once 
loved Silvio she began to develop a slow 
hatred for him.’’ 

“The relationship between the young 
Irishman and the girl grew into a warm 
friendship, and then into something more.’’ 

“Silvio became a trifle suspicious, but as 


148 


HOMING 


there was no proof he became moody; 
sometimes stolid and silent; sometimes 
quarrelsome.” 

‘‘There was a call to arms for the Spanish- 
American war. The young Irishman laugh¬ 
ingly donned a uniform and gaily marched 
away.” 

‘‘About six months later there arrived at 
this little cottage a little golden-haired girl 
with laughing blue eyes. The young mother 
madly clasped her treasure to her heart, and 
in her great joy she forgot to notice that it 
was not shared by her husband.” 

‘‘The girl no longer paid frequent visits to 
her mother. The little one became the very 
heart and soul of her adoring mother. The 
child became more beautiful as it began to 
toddle about, but there was not one feature 
like Silvio; not one little characteristic of his 
displayed in the make-up of the child.” 

‘‘Silvio grew more stolid and sullen; he 
said very little, he no longer sang and whis¬ 
tled as he worked.” 


V 

‘‘The child was nearly three years old and 
she was the embodiment of love; she 
seemed to have enough love in her little 


HOMING 


149 


heart and sunshine in her soul to light the 
world. Her mother called her Sunshine 
and she became known by that name to the 
people of the neighborhood. Little Sun¬ 
shine loved the flowers, the birds and the 
animals; she had no fear, and had to be 
guarded from harmful things. She would 
throw her tiny arms about a stray dog and 
share her jam and bread with it.” 

‘‘One day Silvio brought home a huge 
police dog. The muscles of its huge limbs 
showed through its silky brownish skin, and 
its eyes looked sullen and fierce. Madge 
was horror stricken at the sight of the huge 
monster.” 

‘‘What on earth have you got that fierce 
looking beast for, Silvio? I shall be afraid 
to let Sunshine out of the house.” 

‘‘Perfectly harmless,” said Silvio in his 
usual manner; ‘‘besides I shall keep him tied 
up, except at night time. Someone has 
been prowling about here; I missed some 
pullets the other day and the fruit is disap¬ 
pearing. There will be nothing missing 
while Don is on guard.” 

‘‘Just then little Sunshine came tripping 
out and when she saw the dog she clapped 
her hands in glee and ran towards him. Her 


150 


HOMING 


mother screamed and grabbed the child in 
her arms as the dog lunged forward with an 
ugly growl.” 

The party were seated on an old fallen 
oak tree; its whitened decayed stump stood 
by like a spectre. 

‘‘The dog was tied to this very tree,” said 
Stuart. ‘‘But he was tied with a rope in¬ 
stead of being chained.” 

‘‘The mother had succeeded in frighten¬ 
ing the child sufficiently to keep her from 
going near the dog, but the child had a way 
of standing off and speaking to him in baby 
admiration, and sometimes holding her tiny 
arms out as though she could hardly resist 
petting him.” 

‘‘Silvio brought raw beef to the dog every 
day, and Madge warned him that the dog 
would go mad if he continued to feed him 
so much meat.” 

“ ‘The beast is fierce now,’ she said.” 

‘‘Silvio heeded not, but continued the diet. 
One quiet evening, just at sunset the family 
were at supper, Madge had lighted the lamp 
and placed it on the table, though it was still 
light enough, but before they had finished 
supper it would be required.” 

‘‘Little Sunshine sat in her high chair and 


HOMING 


151 


ate her supper, dropping part of it to her cat 
which always took its place beside Sunshine 
at each meal, knowing it would not be for¬ 
gotten. Sunshine never forgot the animals; 
she threw crumbs to the birds, fed the squir¬ 
rels which inhabited the great oak trees and 
though her Mother did not know it, she 
shared her food with Don. Although she 
did not dare to go up to him, she always 
took something out and threw it near enough 
so he could reach it; an attention which Don 
always received with an ugly growl.” 

‘‘After Sunshine had finished her supper, 
she slipped down unceremoniously, as was 
her custom, and sat down in the doorway. 
Her Mother had not noticed that she had 
taken with her from the table a piece of 
bread and a slice of meat.” 

‘‘All of a sudden there was the mad howl 
of a dog and the feeble scream of a child. 
The Mother sprang up from the table, 
grabbed an old revolver which lay dusty 
among an accumulation of things on an old 
desk. Her husband had given it to her when 
they were first married and had said; ‘We 
live in rather an isolated spot here; its safer 
to have this around; sometimes I don’t get 
in till late.’ ” 


152 


HOMING 


“It was loaded, but as far as she could 
remember it had never been fired. The 
nickel was slightly rusty.” 

“What went through her frantic brain 
during the moment she grabbed the revolver 
and ran to the door God only knows. Upon 
reaching the door she saw the big dog ap¬ 
parently quite mad; his eyes like coals of 
fire, and his teeth buried deep in her baby’s 
throat, from which the blood was trickling 
like ruby drops.” 

“Her frantic screams rent the twilight 
quietness: the neighbors a mile away de¬ 
clared they heard it plainly, and their blood 
froze in their veins.” 

“The frantic Mother did not shoot from 
the doorway, she ran to the side of the dog 
and seeing an axe nearby where her husband 
had been breaking wood, she dropped the 
revolver; it fell in the little pool of blood on 
the ground; she grabbed the axe and with 
one blow mashed in the dog’s head. It 
died instantly, without even letting up the 
grip it held on the child’s throat.” 

VI 

At this point Stuart put his hand up to 
his eyes as if to shut out some horrible vision. 


HOMING 


153 


“I was the only eye witness to the trag¬ 
edy,” he said; ‘‘I was returning on my pony 
from the post office. I stared horrified for 
a moment, then raced madly home to tell 
my mother and father.” 

“The girl had died almost instantly; her 
wind pipe had been severed by the dog’s 
teeth.” 

“The Mother put her hand on the child’s 
heart; it was quite still; then she heard a 

fiendish laugh.and looked up. There 

in the doorway stood her husband laughing 
in fiendish glee and gesticulating. . . ‘There’s 
your damned love child,* he shrieked be¬ 
tween his laughs; ” the vendetta, the ven¬ 
detta.” 

‘‘She picked up the revolver besmeared 
with her baby’s blood and fired. The man 
dropped and crumpled up dead. Then 
she turned the revolver and sent a bullet 
through her own heart.” 

‘‘When the neighbors arrived they found 
three corpses and the dead dog with its teeth 
still clenched in the child’s throat.” 

‘‘Upon examining the rope, it was found 
to have been picked with a pin and gradually 
teased until it was nearly worn through just 
near the knot where it would never be no- 



154 


HOMING 


ticed; the dog had lunged forward and the 
rope had given way.” 

“It is claimed that ever since the tragedy 
a woman’s frantic scream can be heard at 
the twilight hour; also the howl of a dog 
and the fiendish laugh of a man. There are 
people who will swear they have seen a 
woman light a lamp and place it on an in¬ 
visible table and go out the door.” 

VII 

At this point a neighbor’s dog jumped a 
rabbit not ten yards from where the party 
were seated on the fallen tree: the dog sud¬ 
denly let out an ungodly shrill yelp and 
rushed right over the old stump and past 
the weird-looking cottage in hot pursuit of 
a cotton tail. 

It nearly scared the whole party into un¬ 
consciousness. Marvina shrieked and 
nearly fell backwards, Mary turned quite 
pale and sat rooted to the spot, Stuart sprang 
to his feet and then they all laughed; a 
rather nervous silly laugh. 

Marvina was the first to speak. 

“Well, I suppose it is difficult for us to 
understand the workings of the Latin mind; 
we cold-blooded prosaic Americans, thank 
goodness, are more sensible; we would 


HOMING 


155 


simply get a divorce under such circum¬ 
stances. . . Much simpler and saner!” 

They walked over and looked at the door 
hanging on one hinge. Blake pointed out 
some peculiar round holes made by the bore 
worms at first and then enlarged by decay. 

“My boy chums were sure those holes 
were made by the murderous shot; fired at 
the victims, never stopping to think logic¬ 
ally; of course the murder was done with a 
bullet from a revolver. They are buried 
right over there,” and he pointed to some 
little mounds about fifty yards away. 

The mounds were enclosed by a crude low 
stone wall and there was a cheap square 
grave stone that served to mark the resting 
place of all three. It stood near the old 
vineyard; the arbors had long since rotted 
away, and the vines still grew in wild con¬ 
fusion on the ground, and twined about the 
dead trees and bushes. 

“No wonder you shudder to think of such 
a story, Miss Langford; I had no idea it 
was so terrible.” 

And making an effort to shake off the 
morbid depression caused by the story of 
the haunted house, and the melancholy sur¬ 
roundings, Marvina said: “Shall we seek a 


156 


HOMING 


more cheerful atmosphere?” 

‘‘That is a very good suggestion,” said 
Mary, “my spirits feel all mildewed and 
moldy.” 

VIII 

‘‘The house is only a few hundred yards 
up the hill; it is concealed by the underbrush 
but you will be able to see it just around 
that little curve in the lane,” said Blake. 

“Perhaps you would like to ramble about 
over the old landmarks a bit, Mr. Blake.” 
said Marvina; “if you prefer to walk, I will 
drive the car up to the house and wait for 
you there.” 

“If you don’t mind I would like that,” 
answered Blake: “Would you mind keep¬ 
ing me company, Mary?” 

“Not at all,” replied Mary, that delicate 
rose tint coming slowly back to her face. 
“Are you sure you won’t be lonely, Mrs. 
Mansfield?” 

“Never,” said Marvina. 

Just then the wind sprang up and whistled 
through the tree-tops, turning the leaves of 
a nearby poplar inside out until it looked 
like a shower of fluttering silver in the sun¬ 
shine. 


HOMING 


157 


“I can never get lonely in the forest,” 
said Marvina, and she looked up and pointed 
to the silver poplars. ‘‘Isn’t it beautiful? To 
me the music of that invisible thing we call 
‘Wind,’ is the music of the Pipes of Pan; 
the rustle of the swaying branches are like 
fairies dancing to that music, and the bub¬ 
bling brook and rushing streams like fairy 
laughter. How can one be lonely amid all 
this?” 

She threw in the clutch and took off the 
brake: the car went slowly up the hill and 
out of sight, while Mary and Blake stood 
silently looking after her. 

Blake broke the silence first. 

‘‘Strange combination—that woman; to 
hear her rattle off all that stuff about fairies 
and music of the winds, you would never 
think she was a good cook!” 

Mary laughed a low musical laugh at the 
sudden twist Blake had given the poetic con¬ 
versation. 

‘‘Is she a good cook? She doesn’t sound 
like one; she has the soul of an artist.” 

‘‘Well, some cooks are artists you know! 
The last time I was out here, Mrs. Mansfield 
had some trouble with her cook in the after¬ 
noon and sent her off, and in spite of that, 


158 


HOMING 


and the fact that she had a big party on, she 
cooked the dinner herself, was dressed to 
receive her guests, and did not look as 
though she had even seen a kitchen.” 

‘‘That’s most remarkable! Then you 
have been here before?” asked Mary. ‘‘May 
1 ask if it was last Thursday evening?” 

‘‘Why yes, it was! The last time was 
the first time in this case. I did not know 
the Mansfields lived so near the old home. 
But how did you know it was last Thursday 
evening?” 

‘‘1 didn’t know,” said Mary, ‘‘but for 
some reason you seemed very near me that 
evening. I remember I got out some old 
songs we used to sing together, and I played 

and sang them.Strange!” whispered 

Mary. 

Stuart offered his arm to Mary as they 
started up the steep incline. He looked 
ahead at the red autumn sun flaming through 
the fine old forest which stretched away to 
meet the green meadows where a herd of 
Holsteins was grazing peacefully by an old 
familiar stream. 

They were silent for a while until they 
came to a little foot path to the left, at the 
end of which could be seen a quaint old 



HOMING 


159 


rustic garden house at the foot of a little hill. 

Why, there’s the old spring house; still 
standing, not changed a bit and the path is 
quite beaten as though it is frequently used 
. . . Let us walk up there, Mary. You 

remember, we used to go up there in the 
olden days?” 

“There was an apple orchard on the hill¬ 
side back of the old spring house. Do you 
remember the big red apples that mellowed 
in the garret, and were brought down for 
the Christmas Festivities?” 

“Yes,” said Mary, “and I remember the 
day we were all gathering apples; you were 
up the tree, and your sister Gypsy and I 
were picking them up. Gypsy got tired and 
amused herself by walking along the stone 
wall, and you said that if she did not come 
on back and help to pick up the apples, you 
would knock her off the wall.” 

“Yes, I remember,” Stuart replied, with 
that painful little smile as memory bright¬ 
ened over the past. “She dared me to hit 
her, and I threw a big hard apple at her and 
she went down like one of those ‘Knock- 
the-baby-down’ dummies at Coney Island 
and nearly scared the wits out of us. I 
didn’t mean to hit her; I only meant to scare 


160 


HOMING 


her, but instead of that, it was I who got the 
scare.” 

“Yes, you hit her right between the eyes; 
I surely thought she was dead: then you 
came near drowning her by throwing water 
in her face.. . . Poor Gypsy, tell me how is 
she getting along?” 

“Fine, thank you; she has three lovely 
children, two girls and a boy; married very 
well, and has a beautiful home in Connecti¬ 
cut.” 

Just then they reached the spring house, 
by its side was a huge beech tree, its 
branches spreading out over the spring 
forming a leafy bower to protect it and keep 
it cool. On its smooth white bark in clear 
raised letters intermingling they saw: 

-SMTAURAYRT- 

Unless one looked rather carefully one 
would not notice that between the letters of 
Stuart’s name were the letters of Mary’s— 
that the letters read alternately spelt 
“Stuart” and “Mary.” 

He had cut them one day when he was 
home on a holiday. He was a freshman at 
college, and thought that intermingling the 
letters was rather clever. How well he re- 




HOMING 


161 


membered. They had been gathering 
chestnuts, and had stopped at the spring for 
a drink and to rest a bit. 

Little black haired Saint Mary had 
watched him in all her girlish admiration. 
The tree was only a sapling then and the 
letters very small; carved with a penknife 
that had been a Christmas present from 
Mary. 

“Some things have changed,” thought 
Blake. 

The tree was about forty feet high and 
the letters had expanded with the growth 
of the tree until each letter stood out in bold 
relief as though it were a living accuser of 
his youthful disloyalty. 

Stuart looked at the letters which he had 
forgotten until he was confronted with 
them; then he looked at Mary. She dropped 
her eyes and felt that if someone did not 
speak the silence would crush her. 

IX 

“This is a fascinating old spot,” she 
whispered; “I often come here and sit quite 
alone and dream! Tell me, Stuart, what 
have you been doing with yourself all these 
years. Getting rich, I suppose.” 


162 


HOMING 


“Trying to, Mary,” he replied, and as 
though unwilling to talk about himself he 
changed the subject rather abruptly. 

“Shall we journey on up the hill? I am 
rather impatient to see what the old house 
looks like after all these years.” 

“Surely,” said Mary, “there is a little 
foot path just beyond the spring which leads 
up to the rear of the house; its a short cut; 
shall we take it?” 

“By all means,” replied Blake, “though 
I am afraid you will have to lead the way; 
I have forgotten, or perhaps the path is 
new.” 

They disappeared up the hillside, gather¬ 
ing branches of bittersweet with its beautiful 
scarlet berries as they went. 


Chapter 6 

I 

Suddenly through the great flaming oaks 
and golden maples appeared the old colonial 
house with its broad verandas and old 
fashioned green shutters. 

“Why, the old house has been modern¬ 
ized, hasn’t it? There are telephone and 
electric wires running in; there is a slate 
roof instead of the moss-covered shingles 
which I remember; also there has been 
added broad balconies and a sun-parlor at 
each end of the house! It seems good to 
discover that instead of running down the 
old home has been so beautifully kept up 
and improved!” 

“Yes,” replied Mary, “the Cordons who 
bought the place at your father’s death 
spent a fortune on it. The interior is very 
beautiful and very comfortable. They were 
only here in summer; because the franc was 
so cheap, they bought a chateau in France 
and I don’t believe they will ever come back 
to America to live.” 


164 


HOMING 


Stuart apparently was too absorbed to 
answer. The sight of the old familiar home 
held him as in a trance. Up there in the 
room at the west end of the old house he 
had first opened his eyes on a quiet peaceful 
world. 

There was the doorway where his Mother 
had appeared to welcome him home from 
college at vacation time and holidays. He 
could almost see her standing there now, 
with her black silk dress over stiff petticoats, 
her arms outstretched to greet her boy. 

There was the dormer window of the 
room in the attic where he kept his bat, his 
fishing rod, sling-shot, rifle and his ducking 
gun; those had been the joys of his prep- 
school days. 

“Blessed be the mirror of memory!** 
thought Stuart. “Would life be worth 
living without it?” 

These two people stood there in silent 
ecstasy, viewing the old familiar playground 
of their youth with all the bittersweet emo¬ 
tions it brought back to their minds. 

Stuart pondered on silently, “take away 
the power to recall: deprive us of that ever 
present influence; the realization and solace 


HOMING 


165 


it gives;** he thought “What would life be 
like without our memories?” 

“How often as boy or man, maid or 
matron, all humanity, turns to the mirror of 
memory, and looks longingly at the reflec¬ 
tions of the past. 

Stuart saw faces in its unfathomable 
depth, true to expression, lacking only the 

power of speech.The absent to whom 

his heart cried a glad greeting! How they 
recalled the joys of other days, these 
creatures of his mind in reminiscent mood. 

Love was the theme.How the 

mirror pulsates and glows; the soul awakens 
to new life; his lips burned once more with 

kisses long grown cold.kisses which 

once sufficed to set blood and brain on fire; 
his empty arms clasp their own to his throb¬ 
bing heart again. 

As he gazed he saw the Golden Butterfly, 
little Velora, with her golden hair as though 
the sun had kissed it and left its mellow 
light; the poise of her saucy little head; the 
witchery of her wonderful violet eyes, the 
soft touch of her hand and the very outline 
of her form; all there—loved and fondled 
and held close to his heart. 

Stuart could see the faces of his mother, 






166 


HOMING 


father, sister and friends smiling at him! 
Through the haze of the years he reviewed 
the happiness and small ills of his childhood. 

In clearer light were outlined in his 
memory the hopes and aspirations and deeds 
of a more recent past. 

With an effort Stuart forced himself out 
of the reveries and turning to Mary, said: 

“Did you see Mrs. Mansfield? I suppose 
we should join her and look about the old 
place together.” 

Mary turned her head away quickly as 
Stuart looked up, but not before he had 
seen a tear glisten for a moment in her eye 
and fall, like dew shaken from a rose. 

He pretended not to see, but the reflection 
changed in memory’s mirror with the sight 

of that glistening tear,.an accusing 

conscience began to sear and burn; his soul 
shrank from the memory of that which it 
could not now mend. An icy hand clutched 
at the bleeding heart of the transgressor. . . 
“But while Memory lacerates and stings, 
it is also Memory which softens and subdues, 
and invests the most heart-breaking grief 
with the Heaven-sent halo of an enshrined 
regret” thought Stuart as he tried to swallow 
the lump that rose in his throat. 



HOMING 


167 


II 

Mary turned and waved her hand in the 
direction of the landing place down by the 
small lake in front of the house. 

“There is Mrs. Mansfield,” she said. 

Stuart turned to see Mrs. Mansfield throw¬ 
ing sticks onto the water while a shepherd 
dog gleefully swam out to fetch them back 
to her. 

Most men would have talked to cover the 
real emotions going on down deep in the 
heart. Not Stuart; there was nothing super¬ 
ficial about him, and just at this moment 
there seemed to be something big and fine in 
the silence. 

As they joined Mrs. Mansfield down by 
the lake, she turned to greet them with her 
usual enthusiasm: 

“See, I have found such an interesting 
friend! Isn’t he a darling?” and she patted 
the dog’s dripping head. For an answer it 
shook itself, thereby causing a regular 
shower from which they were all obliged to 
make their escape. 

“This really is the most fascinating old 
place, Mr. Blake, and no one would suspect 


168 


HOMING 


its presence here; this little lake is like a 
hand-mirror to reflect its loveliness.** 

“It is a wonderful old place,’* replied 
Stuart, “and the Cordons have made some 
wonderful improvements; they have also 
enlarged the lake. I wonder why they have 
departed after all the trouble they took to 
fix it up?” 

They were standing on the little rustic 
landing place looking out over the landscape 
with all its glorious autumn coloring reflect¬ 
ed on the silvery bosom of the lake, the 
willows hanging in dreamy silence over its 
edge. 

To Mary that was Memory’s Mirror, that 
drowsy little lake. On its gentle bosom her 
heart had been broken twenty-one years ago. 
She could remember the very spot where 
the canoe had floated idly in the sunshine 

of that June afternoon.Stuart had 

dropped the paddle, and let the boat drift 
while he chatted about the future which was 
to be his and hers. She had listened with 
joy singing in her heart to all his hopes and 
aspirations. 

“Next year is my last year in college,** he 
was saying, “and I shall be glad; for a man 
to spend twenty years of his life just learn- 



HOMING 


169 


ing to get started seems to me a rotten waste 
of time!” 

‘‘But I am lucky, Mary: Uncle Henry is 
going to give me a splendid position. I shall 
have to go away of course: however, its an 
opportunity. He is constructing a railroad 
down South, and I shall be stationed some¬ 
where in Tennessee, but that will be only 
temporary!” 

He had looked longingly into her dreamy 
happy hazel eyes. He was not handsome, 
but he was sincere; he had the intangeable 
charm of youth and the making of a fine 
strong personality. 

He had always found it difficult to put 
his emotions into words; he had never to! 
her that he loved her, tho’ there was no 
doubi in Mary’s mind about that. She was 
sure her love was returned, and so when 
Stuart reached out, and put his hand over 
hers, and with that seriousness of youth and 
boyishness which accompanies that first 
glorious love of youth, had said: 

‘‘Mary, dear, its going to be very lonely 
down in Tennessee without you. We have 
been pals ever since I can remember.” She 
raised her eyes to his, and in the tender June 
sunshine her face had been radiantly happy 


170 


HOMING 


as she waited for the words that never were 
spoken. 

“Will you.” but Stuart never fin¬ 

ished the sentence, because just then his 
sister Gypsy had called from that very land¬ 
ing place where they now stood, and that 
call had changed Mary’s whole life. 

“Stuart,” Gypsy called, “come in and take 
us out in the canoe.” 

Stuart looked up and the words froze on 
his lips. Mary’s eyes followed his gaze and 
they both looked in admiration at the vision 
of loveliness before them. 

Stuart picked up the paddle and sent the 
canoe flying through the water up to the 
little dock: he sprang up and gave his hand 
to Mary as he held the canoe to keep it from 
drifting away. 

“Miss Allen,—Miss Langford, and my 
brother Stuart.” 

Miss Allen smiled most graciously as she 
acknowledged the introduction. She was 
indeed a vision of loveliness as she stood 
there on that June afternoon, her soft golden 
hair tossed by the summer breeze. 

She was very slight and girlish: she could 
not have weighed more than ninety-five 
pounds; yet a perfect little Venus; as light 



HOMING 


171 


as thistle-down and as dainty as a peach 
blossom in her pale blue organdie dress 
which accentuated the violet of her eyes. 

There they had stood twenty-one years 
ago, a symbol of the eternal triangle. 

Velora Allen was a city girl; she was a 
bewitching elf; a winsome will-o’-the-wisp, 
whose ethereal form had been caught and 
fixed by the wand of modern magic. In its 
frame of golden hair, her face shone like a 
lily, her eyes sparkling like dew kissed violets 
in the spring sunshine; lips rosy ripe and 
moist with the dew of promised bliss. 

God could not make a woman like that 
and then blame a man for loving her. 

She wound her way through the maze of 
life bearing her crown of beauty with grace 
and charm, adding brilliancy as the passing 
years endowed her with ripened knowledge 
of her power to sway the will of those about 
her and move the hearts of men. 

Velora was the poor daughter of a widow* 
ed mother. She was twenty-five, though 
she looked but seventeen. In the city she 
had many rivals, thousands of them—New 
York City has more feminine charm and wit 
than any other city in the world—but out 
here in the country with only poor little 


172 


HOMING 


Saint Mary as her rival her triumph was 
assured. 

How could it be otherwise? What chance 
had poor little Saint Mary, with her beautiful 
soul invisible, in the presence of this viva¬ 
cious violet-eyed city queen schooled 
in all the arts of coquetry? 

Stuart thought he had never seen any¬ 
thing so beautiful in his life. He could 
hardly keep his eyes from her face. 

“I had quite forgotten that you were ex¬ 
pecting a guest, Gyp;” he said, “who 
fetched Miss Allen from the station?” 

“I did,” replied Gypsy, “you were no 
where to be seen, and it was nearly train 
time, so I was obliged to drive alone. Velora 
has come to spend a week with me if she 
can stand the rustic ruralness that long.” 

“Indeed I am sure I will enjoy every mo¬ 
ment of it,” replied Velora, looking at 
Stuart a little shyly; “What a dear little 
canoe, and what a beautiful lake!” 

“Would you like to go canoeing, Miss 
Allen?” He glanced up at Mary whose 
presence he had almost forgotten for the 
moment: “I am afraid it won't carry us all!” 

“Mary and I will take the row-boat,” sug¬ 
gested Gypsy. 


HOMING 


173 


“Yes, of course,” said Mary, as she took 
the rope from Stuart and held the canoe in 
place near the dock while they both got 
comfortably seated. 

The next June Velora and Stuart were 

married.All this was what Mary saw 

in Memory’s Mirror! 

Poor little Mary! Her heart was break¬ 
ing all over again as she stood there twenty- 
one years later, and watched the shadows 
of the long ago pass in review. 

Ill 

Through all her reflections and memories 
Mary could hear Stuart saying to Mrs. 
Mansfield: 

“Very few people know how beautiful 
the Kittatiny Hills are. There are two more 
lakes; one a mile or so from the other, right 
beyond this one. My father supplied all 
the nearby towns with ice from those three 
lakes, selling only to the wholesale trade. 
He also supplied two of the nearby towns 
with milk.” 

“He graduated as a clergyman, and 
preached in the village church here for twen¬ 
ty years. He was a great old philosopher. 
You would have liked him, Mrs. Mansfield.” 



174 


HOMING 


“Yes,” said Mary, trying to bring herself 
back to the present, “Reverend Blake was 
a wonderful man. He was everybody s 
friend and everybody loved him. Though 
he was seventy-two when he died, he never 
really grew old; there was a hardly a line in 
his face, and his heart was ever young.” 

“Well,” Stuart remarked, “I remember 
the sermon I received from him when I left 
this old home, and started out to face the 
world and its struggles—Wish I were big 
enough to live up to it. . . 

“Walk the path of life with hope in your 
heart and your head erect, my boy,” said 
he, “without fear of the future or foolish 
appeal to the present. Keep conscience as a 
comrade; remember, work it its own recom¬ 
pense; accept fools with fortitude, and 
meanness without malice. Self-forgetful¬ 
ness and self-respect are great assets in life. 
Remember always the relative values of 
money and manners; be obedient to the pur¬ 
pose of your creation, so that you may have 
the love of woman and the confidence and 
companionship of friends; do not judge 
others lest you condemn yourself.” 

“Close your eyes to the allurement of 
riches, your ears to the clamor of the multi- 


HOMING 


175 


tudes. Never be discourteous or unkind. 
If there is sorrow and suffering in store for 
you as, is the rule of life, have the courage 
to bear and the strength to endure, keeping 
in mind that others too have carried a cross, 
and if at the end you have not reached the 
castle of your dreams, may God be gracious 
in his mercy and give you the will to be 
content./ 

“My Father practiced what he preached: 
would that I could have followed in his foot¬ 
steps. He worked all week out in the open 
with his men; each Sunday found him 
preaching a wonderful philosophy of life in 
his village church; he was the happiest man 
I have ever known.” 

“I am sure I should have liked your 
father, Mr. Blake,” said Marvina. “The 
things he said to you are even more beauti¬ 
ful than the Sermon on the Mount, and the 
man who spoke them could only have been 
a great personality.” 


IV 

Suddenly the dog which had been drying 
himself in the sunshine sprang up with a 
loud bark of welcome, and went bounding 


176 


HOMING 


off to greet some one who had just driven up 
in the barn yard. 

An old colored man and woman alighted. 

“Down Victuh, down, you wet rascal,** 
the old woman shouted as she came toward 
the visitors. When she was quite near she 
greeted Miss Langford. 

“Well, how do, Miss Mary, how is yo’ 
today?” and she held out her hand in wel¬ 
come. Then she spied Blake. 

“Well, if dare ain’t Mistah Stuart! fo’ de 
Lawd’s sake, how-d’y do; whar have yo* 
been akeepin’ yo’self all dese heah years? 
It sho’ is a long time go sence yo’ bring me 
an’ Bill up North wid yo*.” 

“Yes, Aunt Harriet, it’s been about 
fifteen years since I came up here from Ten¬ 
nessee, and sent for you and Uncle Bill. I 
thought surely you would go back to your 
home after mother and father died. How 
is Uncle Bill?” 

At that she turned and called, “Oh, Bill, 
come heah!” 

There approached rather slowly what 
might have been a second edition of Uncle 
Tom. This old human relic of past ages was 
born in slavery, and had the quaint old- 


HOMING 


177 


fashioned manners of the servant of the best 
Southern families. 

His good-natured old black face was 
shining like ebony under the whiteness of his 
hair. His greeting to Stuart was very 
courteous, and he beamed with delighted 
surprise as his eyes rested on the face of his 
old employer. 

“Well how-d’ yo do; Mr. Stuart, I sho’ 
is glad to se yo*; so yo’ come back at las* to 
see yoah old home?” 

“Yes, Uncle Bill; 1 am here just by 
chance, but I am mighty glad of this oppor¬ 
tunity to look around!” 

The old negro greeted Mary, and bowed 
respectfully to Mrs. Mansfield. 

“Spec yo* all would like ter see de big 
house? Ef yo* step this heah way, I jes get 
de keys an* op’n de do! When Mistah 
Cordon buy de old place he jes take Harriet 
an’ me on, and we is lef’ heah ter take ceare 
of ebberthin’.” 

Old Uncle Bill fumbled in his pockets, 
drew forth a big old-fashioned key, unlocked 
and opened the door, then stood back while 
the ladies entered, followed by Stuart. 


Chapter 7 

I 

The sun was setting as Marvina, with her 
dainty feet pressed against the brake, glided 
down through the avenue of trees along the 
hillside homeward bound. 

Stuart’s old servants insisted upon load¬ 
ing the car with various products from the 
farm. A basket of big red apples, some 
black walnuts, a jug of cream, a bottle of 
sweet cider, and a large print of sweet butter. 

The rays of the setting sun were flooding 
forest and meadow with golden light. The 
last peaceful beauty of the dying day sur¬ 
rounded the party as they chatted pleasantly 
about the events of the day. 

Suddenly, a blood-curdling shriek filled 
the air. It frightened Marvina so she al¬ 
most lost control of the car. Looking in 
the direction from which the sound came 
they found that they were passing the 
haunted cottage. 

Mary automatically clutched Stuart’s 
hand. There was dead silence no one 


HOMING 


179 


seemed able to speak; it was not until the 
car drew up in front of the little gate at 
Willow Cottage that the silence was broken. 

It was Marvina who spoke first. 

“Here we are, Miss Langford. Dear me, 
I am shaking like a leaf. Did you hear what 
I heard?” 

“Indeed we did, Mrs. Mansfield, wasn’t 
it terrible?” replied Mary. Discovering 
that Stuart was still holding her hand she 
hastily drew it away and blushed prettily, 
which brought back the glow to her very 
pale frightened face. 

“Do you really think it was a ghost, Mr. 
Blake? it sounded mighty real to me; it 
might be a hoax.” 

“It is difficult to know,” replied Stuart, 
“we were past the place, and it was all over 
instantly, and I think we had forgotten about 
the place for the moment; I am sure I had. 
Still, there are mysteries and realities which 
are past all understanding. 

“Well,” said Marvina, “Let’s try and 
forget it as soon as possible. Whatever it 
was, it was horrible; lets return to more 
pleasant reflections! ’ ’ 

“Won’t you come in and have a cup of 
tea to cheer you on your way?” said Mary. 


180 


HOMING 


“Thank you; I would love to, but it is so 
late I fear we will be obliged to keep dinner 
waiting as it is.” 

Marvina held out her hand and with a 
gracious smile said: “! hope, Miss Lang¬ 
ford, that this is the beginning of a long and 
pleasant friendship!” 

“I assure you that your wish is mutual, 
Mrs. Mansfield. Thank you very much for 
a very happy afternoon.” 

Stuart opened the gate and Mary entered, 
she turned and gave him her hand. 

“It has been good to see you again, Stu¬ 
art, and I hope you won’t stay away so long 
again.” She smiled up at him, a sweet¬ 
voiced old-fashioned girl. 

As Stuart pressed her hand he said: “It’s 
been a glorious day. I may ramble over 
this way in the morning; it isn’t much of a 
walk. At any rate I feel that the future will 
bring me back very often to reminisce among 
these picturesque hills!” 

Mary leaned on the garden gate and 
watched the car fade away into the twilight 
shadows; then she turned and slowly entered 
the house. 

In her room she removed her cloak and 
hat, unlocked the drawer of an old desk and 


HOMING 


181 


took from it a package tied with a faded blue 
ribbon. They were old love letters. Each 
one read, until it had become quite limp. 

There was a faded rose pressed together 
with some pansies and violets. An old 
tintype of Stuart and herself taken at a camp 
meeting at Mount Tabor years ago. She 
smiled a little sadly at the funny balloon 
sleeves and the choker of those days, and 
the swagger bright eyed youth at her side. 

Could it be possible that this was the sam 
Stuart who had left her a few moments ago? 
She pressed the picture to her lips 
Then she picked up the envelope with the 
faded rose. How happy she had been when 
that rose had come to her with its flaming 
heart, in all its budding beauty. 

Stuart had sent roses on Christmas morn 
ing; twenty-three years ago. . . 

With them he had sent a verse from a 
very beautiful poem. She took the paper 
containing the verse from around the faded 
flowers and read it again, as she had done 
hundreds of times before. 

“The thoughts I have of you each day, 

Change bleak December into May; 


182 


HOMING 


My heart thrills with the summer’s glow, 

And roses blossom in the snow.” 

Mary put a match to the logs in the small 
fireplace, and crouching down on the hearth 
rug began to read again those cherished 
treasures of her only love in the glow of 

the log fire.A great tear would drop 

down on a beloved page from time to time, 
—a jewel from a heart of gold. 

There was a knock on the door and Julia, 
the maid of all work, entered. 

‘‘Supper is all ready, Miss Mary, and your 
father is waiting in the dining room. Are 
you sick? Can I do anything for you?” 

‘‘No —no, thank you, Julia, I am quite all 
right; just a little headache, that’s all. Please 
tell father that 1 will be down at once.” 

‘‘Very well, ma’m, I’ll make the tea.” 

As the maid closed the door Mary rose 
from her place by the fire, locked her 
treasures in their hiding place, bathed her 
face in cold water, and went downstairs to 
join her father in the dining room. 




PART THREE 


AND THEN 



Chapter I 

I 

From every window of “Awari” there 
blazed forth a welcoming light. It was 
Thanksgiving eve, and Thanksgiving with 
the Mansfields was always a jolly affair; it 
meant the gathering together of friends for 
a dinner and dancing. And such a dinner 
. . . .the old family cook had been brought 
up from Kentucky to reign over the kitchen. 

Aunt Mandie was a cook of no small ac¬ 
complishments; she had cooked for Mar- 
vina’s mother for twenty years. A Thanks¬ 
giving dinner in Kentucky did not mean a 
course dinner very much like any other 
dinner in the North, with a turkey and 
cranberry sauce and mince pie. With the 
Kentuckians, a Thanksgiving dinner was a 
feast: it meant preparing two weeks ahead, 
and Aunt Mandie—looking for all the world 
as though she might have been the original 
Aunt Jemima of pan cake fame— had 
always filled big stone crocks with luscious 
mincemeat, made from choice and carefully 




186 


HOMING 


selected ingredients. The Virginia hams 
were never so good as when prepared by 
Aunt Mandie; she would scrub, boil and skin 
them, then bake them until they were a nut 
brown, constantly basting them with sweet 
wine; with this there would be a garnish of 
glazed sweet potatoes and not ‘a turkey,’ 
but young turkeys stuffed with chestnuts; 
chicken pies with crust as light as thistle 
down; sweet pickled peaches; preserved 
ginger; home made chow chow; white po¬ 
tatoes and cauliflower whipped to a creamy 
fluff with butter and sweet milk. There 
would be baked squash and creamed onions; 
beaten biscuit, and dozens of pies; pumpkin, 
lemon meringue and mince. 

These were only a few of the luxuries of 
the feast; there were terrapins and oysters; 
home made jellies; frozen custards and 
many other delicacies, too numerous to 
mention. 

Aunt Mandie always had two other robust 
colored women as assistants, and the task 
of preparing the feast was a source of keen 
delight to her. 

Marvina fluttered about, giving directions 
here and there. The spicy odors which 
floated up from the kitchen every time the 


HOMING 


187 


door opened sufficed to make anyone 
hungry. 

More than once Marvina was reminded 
of her childhood as she ran down to the 
kitchen to see that all was well, only to be 
greeted invariably by Aunt Mandie’s broad 
grin: “y° u g° erlong honey, doan you 
trouble yo’ head bout de dinner. I*s gwine 
ter fix eberthing jes sames I use to fix fer 
yo’ Ma!” 

Marvina’s mother had been dead about 
three years. She smiled sadly now, as she 
was confronted with the ghosts of dead and 
gone Thanksgiving festivities, where her 
mother, a sweet voiced lady of the old- 
fashioned South, had moved about the old 
home like a gentle queen. 

“Just came to see how you were getting 
on, Aunt Mandie; it makes me feel quite a 
child again to come down to the kitchen and 
find you here.’’ 

Assuring herself that all was well in the 
kitchen, Marvina tripped back to the dining 
room to see that all was as it should be. 

The center of the long banquet table was 
banked with golden glow and feathery au¬ 
tumn leaves. Marvina was a thrifty 
housewife, as well as an excellent hostess: 


188 


HOMING 


she always fashioned all decorations herself, 
blending the color scheme to suit the seasons 
and occasions. The almond cups were 
concealed by miniature imitation turkeys, 
and the dinner favors were beautifully 
bound miniature histories of the first 
Thanksgiving, with hand painted illustra¬ 
tions. The silver candlesticks held tall 
tapering candles, the exact shade of the 
golden glow. 

A profusion of the beautiful yellow 
flowers and autumn leaves filled large urns 
and vases in the drawing room, reception 
hall and solarium, until the house was a 
bower of golden blossoms. Under the 
palms in the spacious sun parlor was an 
electric fountain, filled with rose water; the 
delicate perfume filled the air like the fra¬ 
grance from an old-fashioned garden. 

Marvina’s face beamed with a smile of 
satisfaction as she mounted the stairs to 
dress for dinner. On the top step she was 
confronted by her husband, immaculately 
groomed and looking half his age. 

“I was just going to look for you, dear; 
I wonder, how you manage to be so fresh 
and charming at your parties always, when 


HOMING 


189 


you work up to the very last minute like 
this.*’ 

‘What time is it, Bruce? Aren’t you 
dressed early, dear?” 

“Not so very,” replied Bruce; “it is 
quarter of six; the Blakes will be here at six 
thirty. If you expect to be ready to receive 
them, you had better hurry! I thought I 
would take an airing for half an hour; a 
brisk walk along the lake front in the cool 
crisp air sharpens one’s appetite!” 

“Dear me! I always forget to watch the 
time; please be on hand to receive the Blakes 
if I can’t make it, dear. I never dreamed it 
was so late!” She smiled at Bruce over her 
shoulder as she hurried into her room. 

A half hour later, hearing Marjory open 
her door and start downstairs, Marvina 
called to her; “Marjory dear, if you are all 
dressed, will you come in and hook me up?” 
Marjory entered, looking very flowerlike in 
her orchid colored chiffon. She smiled at 
her mother struggling with her hair, while 
the straps of her evening gown had slipped 
down over her arms. 

Marjory took a pin from the dressing 
table and pinned up her mother’s unruly 


190 


HOMING 


locks. “Better let me hook your dress first, 
mother!” 

Marvina straightened up and put her 
shoulders back to make the hooking easier. 
“Can I do anything more to help you, 
mother?” said Marjory when she had 
snapped the last hook in place. 

“Yes, dear; please look the guest rooms 
over and see if all is as it should be. I am 
so afraid the new maid may have forgotte 
something; and then will you please see that 
only the shaded soft lights are on through¬ 
out the house? Thanks dear, I shall be 
down in a few minutes!” 

Ten minutes later Marvina robed in a 
clinging grey crepe meteor shot with silver, 
clasped an old-fashioned amethyst necklace 
about her neck; she slipped on a dinner ring 
which matched her necklace, and as she 
smoothed the whisp of white hair into place 
over her forehead, and gave her nose a final 
pat, she heard the sound of a motor car on 
the driveway. Turning out all the lights 
except the rose-colored candelabras on her 
dressing table, she hurried downstairs and 
stood in the reception hall ready to receive 
her guests. 


HOMING 


191 


II 

Martin ushered in Mr. and Mrs. Blake 
a moment later. “How do you do, Mrs. 
Mansfield? meet Mrs. Blake!” 

“So good of you to come, Mrs. Blake; I 
hear you don’t like the country, but I think 
you will find us quite jolly out here!” 

“It is very good of you to ask us, Mrs. 
Mansfield, and from the smell of your din¬ 
ner, I know I am going to love it here; the 
first whiff of it nearly starved me.” 

“Isn’t it too bad that they don’t build these 
modern houses odor-proof and sound¬ 
proof?” replied Marvina. “To save my 
life, I can’t keep the odors of food entirely 
out, and the kitchen is in the basement too. 
I have a fountain of rose water splashing in 
the sun room and I am even burning incense, 
but the dominant fragrance seems to be the 
dinner at present!” 

“Don’t let that disturb you, Mrs. Mans¬ 
field; as far as Mrs. Blake is concerned she 
would rather inhale the fragrance of a good 
dinner than the perfume from a garden full 
of roses,” ventured Stuart. 

“Very well,” said the hostess; “I shall 
hurry you right off to your rooms to dress 


192 


HOMING 


at once and there will be no delay. We dine 
at seven-thirty.’* 

Marvina left the Blakes at the entrance to 
their rooms, pointing out the push button. 
“Please ring if you require anything; I hope 
you will be comfortable.’* 

“This is lovely; I am sure we will be very 
comfortable Mrs. Mansfield!*’ 

Marvina hurried back downstairs. She 
looked about for Bruce, and as he was not 
to be found in the house, she threw a woolen 
cape about her and went down in the garden 
by the lake. There she saw him sitting on 
a bench leisurely puffing a cigarette. 

“Well, you are a nice one! You promised 
to return in time to receive the Blakes; it’s 
a good thing I was ready!** 

“My dear, I am so sorry; the night is so 
beautiful, and the atmosphere so quiet and 
soothing. I am hanged if I had not for¬ 
gotten all about the Blakes; have they 
arrived?” 

Marvina laughed good naturedly and 
sat down beside her husband. “Of course 
they have; and Bruce, did you say Mrs. 
Blake was a beautiful slender blonde?” 

“I said ‘the picture’ on Blake’s desk was 
of a beautiful little blonde,” replied Bruce. 


HOMING 


193 


‘Then you have never seen Mrs. Blake?” 

“No,” replied Bruce. 

‘‘Well, I really had quite a shock, dear. I 
expected to meet a little will-o’-the-wisp, 
and do you know, Mrs. Blake weighs at 
least two hundred pounds. She may have 
been willowy once, but she is immense now, 
and I should say, stupid as well, though 
very amiable! Poor woman! Her face is 
so fat, she can hardly get her eyes open: 
they must have been very beautiful eyes 
once . . I mean, when she could open 

them wide. Her fingers are too fat; the kind 
one usually sees filled with rings, though 
she has only her wedding ring and a solitaire, 
and do you know, dear, the most pathetic 
thing about her, I think, is her appetite . . 

Her little sqeezed-in eyes just sparkled 
when she smelled the spicy odors from the 
kitchen, and she remarked about how good 
it smelled, the moment she entered the 
house.” 

‘‘Poor old Stuart! poor old chap!” was 
Bruce’s only answer; then he said: “it is 
blowing up rather chilly; you had better 
come along in, old dear.” He drew the 
cape closer about her, put him arm around 
her waist, and as they strolled in he said; 


194 


HOMING 


“It seems your first impression is not very 
favorable; however, you may find some re¬ 
deeming feature when you know her better. 
Blake is very devoted to his family, and 
seems to be a contented married man.” 

Bruce opened the door, and they both 
stepped in the pretty, cosey entrance hall, 
and stood looking admiringly across the 
softly-lighted, beautiful, flower-bedecked 
rooms. 

“You have done it all so beautifully,” 
whispered Bruce: “There is always a cosey 
homey, luxuriousness about this nest you 
have made.” 

Marvina smiled up at him; “I could not 
have made it without your help, dear! Just 
like the birds that build outside in our trees, 
there are always two at work, the male and 
his mate.” 

“Just the same, mother,” Bruce said 
smilingly, “it is the wife who makes the 
home, and it is the wife who makes us love 
the home!” 

Just then there were footsteps heard on 
the stairs, and Bruce moved forward to 
greet Stuart. “Glad to see you, old man,” 
he said, extending his hand; “you sure are 
a rapid dresser.” 


HOMING 


195 


“Yes,” replied Stuart, “we are lucky 
devils when it comes to dress; the ordinary 
dinner dress of a gentleman is not compli¬ 
cated, and it goes on so easily. Now, when 
my wife starts to dress for dinner, I usually 
make my escape as quickly as possible, and 
always before its time to don these instru¬ 
ments of torture known as corsets. 

This ordeal always reminds me of a verse I 
read somewhere about a young man, who 
quite by accident saw his lady dressing; it 
went somewhat like this: 

‘She took a garment of awful shape, 

It wasn’t a waist, not yet a cape; 

But it looked like a piece of ancient mail, 
Or an instrument from a Russian jail; 

And then, with a fearful groan and gasp, 
She squeezed herself in its deathly clasp, 

So fair and yet so fated. 

And then, with a move like I don’t know 
what 

She tied it on with a double knot, 

And, the poor man woefully waited.’ *’ 

“One of the things I am thankful for 
today is that men don’t have to wear them!” 

“Well,” said Bruce, “it seems the fair sex 
do have more than their share of annoy- 




196 


HOMING 


ances; that’s why we should spoil them a 
little.” 

‘‘Spoil us indeed,” ventured Marvina; 
‘‘it is mostly we who spoil you!” She was 
very amused at Blake’s little speech, and a 
little surprised at his display of humor. 

‘‘Want to take a walk, Stuart?” asked 
Bruce, ‘‘it’s a lovely night; the air is won¬ 
derful, and our guests won’t be arriving for 
some time yet. I have just been reluctantly 
dragged in to greet you.” 

‘‘Nothing would please me more,” replied 
Stuart; ‘‘this air is like a tonic to us poor 
city-cramped office toilers!” 

‘‘Have a cigar?” asked Bruce. 

‘‘Thanks!” 

Marvina called after them; ‘‘Please Bruce, 
don’t oblige me to come and fetch you 
again; watch the time!” 

‘‘All right, dear!” came dimly from the 
distance. 

The first dinner guests had arrived before 
Mrs. Blake made her appearance, so there 
was no time for any personal conversation 
between the two women before dinner, a 
fact which rather pleased Marvina, as she 
wished to have a chance to study the wife 


HOMING 


197 


of this partner before being confronted with 
a tete-a-tete. 

Ill 

There were twenty couples seated at 
the beautiful banquet table; Marvina was 
one of those indefatigable hostesses. The 
smallest detail was important enough to 
give her undivided attention to; her guest 
list was as important to her as her menu, and 
was selected with great care. 

There were represented lawyers, bankers, 
army officers, authors, poets, musicians, 
ministers, and interesting people from var¬ 
ious walks of life, among the dinner guests. 
Marvina had placed Stuart at her right; at 
her left was seated a cousin, who had been 
an officer in the late World War, and who, 
as an aviator, had had some very thrilling 
experiences. Marvina could always depend 
upon Colonel Stanley Malvern to amuse a 
dull guest, so she placed Mrs. Blake next to 
that charming young gallant, with whispered 
orders to use every charm he possessed to 
amuse the fat lady next to him if he were 
to have the prettiest girl in the room for a 
dance partner. 

This order was given with one of Mar- 


198 


HOMING 


vina’s most bewitching smiles, which were 
always irresistable. “Very well, my dear 
cousin, watch me add another conquest to 

my list, but, remember my reward.I 

want the little lady over there.” He nodded 
to an alcove where a slender young girl 
stood chatting with Marjory and a few of 
her young friends. “For my partner, the 
one with eyes like stars and hair like moon¬ 
light: the one in that cloud of blue fluff.” 

Marvina was decidedly amused. “Stanley, 
what is the matter with you? Falling in 
love again, and at first sight this time? That 
young lady, is Miss Violet Elsworth; you do 
as I bid you, and I will see that you are the 
first to write on her dance card!” 

Just then, Martin announced dinner. 
Marvina watched her guests file in: then, as 
Stuart came up and offered her his arm, she 
accepted and followed them. She glanced 
down the long table to where her husband 
stood, tall and handsome, and smiled at the 
look of admiration he bestowed on her. 



Chapter 2 

I 

Before we are seated,” said the host, “I 
want to announce a little surprise, and also 
a real treat. At seven-forty-five,” glancing 
at his watch, ‘‘we have just five minutes 
to wait, we are to hear our President deliver 
a short Thanksgiving message over our 
radio; it will be broadcasted from the White 
House, after which grace will be sung by 
Washington Baptist Church choir, and a 
benediction by its minister. That leads me 
to remark what a marvelous age we are 
living in, and how vastly different from 
the very humble surroundings of the first 
Thanksgiving which took place in the 
early dawn of American history. Not 
so very long ago, we had to make our 
own dinner speeches and say our own 
grace; now it comes to us out of the air. 
It is truly marvelous.” 

‘‘After dinner we will be furnished with 
dance music over the radio by the famous 
orchestra of the Pennsylvania Hotel in New 


200 


HOMING 


York. For those who do not care to dance, 
there is a collection of moving picture reels 
in the library on the third floor; the screen 
is up in the Oriental room, and Martin is 
an expert operator; he will be glad to run 
off any of the reels you select!’* 

Almost before the host had stopped 
speaking, the President’s message was being 
announced by a formal introduction. There 
was a round of enthusiastic applause, and 
then silence, as the voice of the President 
of the United States spoke in a clear ringing 
tone which filled the room, each word being 
as distinct as though he had stood at the 
head of the table. Then a great organ 
pealed forth. 

The voices of the choir seemed to be in¬ 
spired by Heaven; the music was divine; 
the kind of music which sends one’s soul 
soaring to the clouds. 


(< 

0. L /i / u_i - 

Jrt 7 **/■■■&— 

1=4 

(XA* . 

id----- d- - - -"1 


=4= 

% i < M « * . ; 

# U -J! 44441^#- 


* L 

=4 

+1, f - if: ■■ 1} up 

gu X. 

1* 

VV tV 

t==* 

^4.5 & 1 »Lf r F ; 

p-.- M 

■ Ot M. 

< u4 Xy (XZ L/. . __ . ! 






















































HOMING 


201 


After that the beautiful benediction. As 
the last “amen” died away, a little thrill of 
admiration spread through the room, more 
felt than spoken. Then as the hostess took 
her seat, the gentlemen seated the ladies and 
every one began to talk at once, though it 
seemed to be rather difficult to get back to 
silly worldly chatter after the performance 
of the past fifteen minutes. There was 
something sacred and weird in it all. 

II 

When Mrs. Blake found herself seated 
next to a charming young man and entirely 
surrounded by delicious food she was very 
happy and she smiled. When she smiled, 
her violet eyes became narrow sparkling 
slits in a face made more or less expression¬ 
less by fat: when she laughed, her eyes were 
entirely invisible, and her breast rose and fell 
like miniature twin mountains. She had 
the good taste however to dress in black, 
and her hair was still beautiful. 

Marvina had placed Mrs. Blake within 
hearing distance, because she wanted to 
learn something of her character and per¬ 
sonality by her conversation, but as the poor 
woman had an uncontrollable appetite, she 


202 


HOMING 


neglected conversation entirely until her 
hunger was satisfied. It was wonderful to 
see how cleverly she manipulated the loaded 
fork, as she conveyed it from her plate to 
her mouth, but managed a safe landing with 
each cargo. 

Marvina chatted with Blake, and pre¬ 
tended not to be paying any attention to any 
one else, but she kept an eye on all that was 
going on. 

“Remarkable invention, this new radio 
system, Mrs. Mansfield; I have seldom 
heard such a perfect performance as this 
one,” said Blake. 

“Yes, isn’t it wonderful; I am simply awe¬ 
stricken at the miracle of it. We have only 
had this one a week. I am glad that you 
can be with us tonight, and I am delighted 
that you were able to induce Mrs. Blake to 
come; I hope we shall be very good friends.** 

“Mrs. Blake will like being here when 
there is a party on; she likes gaiety.’’ He 
glanced over at his wife: “She is having 
a perfectly wonderful time!*’ He smiled 
his painful little smile. 

Just then, Mrs. Blake asked Colonel 
Malvern: “Who is the lady over there in 
amethyst velvet, with the silver hair?” 


HOMING 


203 


“That,” replied the young officer, “is a 
bit of rural loveliness who teaches my cou¬ 
sin’s daughter music; her name is Miss Mary 
Langford, and she has a silvery voice as well 
as silver hair.” 

Stuart had heard and following his wife’s 
gaze. He became aware, for the first time, 
of the presence of his old sweetheart. 

Marvina noticed a cloud of melancholy 
stealing over his face, which made him ap¬ 
pear suddenly older, and she felt sorry for 
him. She also felt sorry for his wife and 
for Mary. After all, was not this man a 
typical creation, a living symbol of thou¬ 
sands of such dramas and tragedies that lie 
hidden away in the souls of men and wo¬ 
men, beneath the uninteresting surface of 
apparently simple and commonplace lives? 
Was Stuart Blake a hero? Marvina 
thought so; he was kind and true to the 
mother of his children; he lived in the king¬ 
dom of his dreams, and he found consola¬ 
tion in his work; cold perhaps, even a bit 
hard— a t least men called him hard, al¬ 
though he was not unpopular. Bruce liked 

him; men like strong men. 

After Stuart’s discovery of Miss Lang- 


204 


HOMING 


ford, Marvina tried to engage him in conver¬ 
sation but he answered little, and the con¬ 
versation languished, and Marvina was left 
to occupy herself by listening in on her 
neighbors’ conversation, and occasionally 
joining in. 

One thing had pleased Marvina very 
much indeed; Mrs. Blake had not remem¬ 
bered Mary Langford. Having met her 
only once twenty years ago it was not like¬ 
ly she would. 

“Don’t you think this a beautiful part of 
the country, Mrs. Blake?” Colonel Mal¬ 
vern was saying. 

“I don’t like the country,” she replied, 
“if it were not for my children, I would 
never leave New York City!” 

“But,” replied Malvern, “it’s a wonderful 
spot to bring up children, and it’s a fine 
place for the tired business man to relax.” 

“That may be,” said Mrs. Blake, “but 
usually it’s the wife who relaxes in the 
country, while the husband relaxes in a 
Broadway caberet, romancing with some 
modern Juliet! Not for me, thanks; I re¬ 
fuse to join the army of wives who are de¬ 
posited in the country with the kids, to rust 


HOMING 


205 


out their lives with the cows and chickens, 
while the husbands live in the energizing 
atmosphere of the big city!” 

Mrs. Blake, I feel sure, that 1 shall be 
able to convert you to the charms of country 
life before we are very old friends. You 
see, we are so near New York, that we can 
enjoy it jusi as much, as though we lived in 
the city, especially in these wonderful times 
of electric railroads and automobiles,” said 
Marvina. 

“Not forgetting aeroplanes,” put in Col¬ 
onel Malvern. 

“I am sure I could never get used to it,’ 
exclaimed Mrs. Blake, “I just love Broad¬ 
way; I love to go out with Stuart and some 
friends after the theatre and have a nice 
cosey supper in one of those Broadway 
bowers, where there is a syncopating orches¬ 
tra: the lights, good music, and gay dancers 
all hold a thrill for me. I just could not live 
without it all!” 

‘‘You forget the miraculous age we are 
living in to-day,” said Marvina; “we can 
have the orchestra right in our own homes, 
just as we are having one of those synco¬ 
pating orchestras play for us to dance to- 


206 


HOMING 


night, over the radio. It sounds just as 
clear, as though you were in the ballroom 
where it is playing. We can have all the 
things you like right out here in our home 
and the atmosphere is purer and finer, you 
must admit.” 

“You are right to a certain extent,” re¬ 
plied Mrs. Blake, ‘‘your home here is cer¬ 
tainly fascinating; there is a glow and 
warmth about it, that one seldom finds. 
This home would be charming anywhere, 
Mrs. Mansfield, and the modern equipment 
such as the radio and moving pictures are 
really most amazing.” 

‘‘There, I knew I would make a convert 
of you,” said Marvina. 

“Well,” replied Mrs. Blake, “if I could 
choose the site for such a home I would 
choose the top of the Times Building; they 
are building homes on top of New York 
skyscrapers now-a-days, you know, and I 
would just love to live on top of the Times 
Building!” 

“You are certainly a staunch defender of 
the city dwellers, Mrs. Blake,” said Colonel 
Malvern; “but if you come out here in 


HOMING 


207 


June, and live for awhile in my cousin’s gar¬ 
den, you are sure to succumb to the real 
charms of the flowers, birds and butterflies. 
There is no orchestra in the world that 
makes music so sweet as the song of the 
birds,and the gorgeous array of colors, the 
perfume and perfect splendor of the scene, 
with gay winged butterflies sipping the 
honey from the hearts of the flowers; you 
will never want to leave the spot.” 

‘‘Now Stanley, I know you are in love 
again,” remarked Marvina, after that 
speech. 

‘‘Speaking of butterflies,” said Mrs. 
Blake, ‘‘reminds me of my old nickname; 
they used to call me ‘the golden butterfly’ 
when I was a girl. Just think, I weighed 
ninety-five pounds when 1 was married. I 
tried to diet, but I just can’t. How do you 
keep your slenderness, Mrs. Mansfield?” she 
asked, glancing a bit enviously at Marvina’s 
slender waist line. 

‘‘Well, to begin with, I am very energetic, 
and I must confess I am a little careful about 
my diet these days. It is rather a nui¬ 
sance.” 

Finally, the seemingly endless succession 


208 


HOMING 


of courses ceased. During dinner Stuart 
had been chatting with the lady on his right, 
from time to time, but Marvina felt that he 
was really listening to the conversation be¬ 
tween his wife and hostess. 

Marvina rose, and smiled around the table 
as a signal for the ladies to follow her and 
leave the gentlemen to chat over their cigars 
and coffee. Stuart moved Marvina’s chair 
and stood watching the ladies trail out, with 
something of the expression of Napoleon at 
Saint Helena. Marvina could not make 
out just what his emotions were; whether 
he was mad or sad, or annoyed, but it was 
very plain that he was not very happy. 

Ill 

Marvina, for various reasons, was anx¬ 
ious to make a very intimate friend of Mrs. 
Blake, one of them being, that she thought 
business partners should be like a big fam¬ 
ily; it meant a better understanding, and a 
closer association: another was, that Bruce 
had taken a decided liking for Blake, and felt 
that a little wholesome society would be 
good for him. So Marvina, determined to 
make a friend of Mrs. Blake, took her arm 
and walked over to where the radio was in- 


HOMING 


209 


stalled, in an alcove of the drawing room. 

“Have you ever inspected one of these 
installations, Mrs. Blake? Personally, I 
simply can’t get over the wonder of it!’’ 

“No’’ replied Mrs. Blake, “1 would like to 
get one; I am sure it must be lots of fun!*’ 

“You see this little wheel or dial? That 
is the ‘tuner’; we turn that until we find a 
broadcasting station. This dial is the 'gen¬ 
erator,* to make the sound loud or soft. 
Listen, ‘Station K. D. K. A. Pittsburg*," 
came over in a clear ringing voice. Just 
then they were interrupted by music from 
the piano; they stepped back into the draw¬ 
ing room and saw Mary Langford seated at 
the piano. Marjory was standing by her 
and several ladies urging her to sing. 

“Miss Langford’s face is very familiar, 
but I can't place her,’’ said Mrs. Blake; “she 
is most attractive, and very young to have 
white hair." 

“She is a very sweet girl; Marjory has 
been studying with her for the past few 
weeks, and I think her voice is improving 
already." 

Marvina was careful to avoid any discov¬ 
ery on Mrs. Blake’s part, as to the existing 
friendship between Stuart and Miss Lang- 


210 


HOMING 


ford. She was not quite sure as to the ef¬ 
fect on Mrs. Blake; sometimes it is not quite 
so comfortable to find one’s self in the same 
gathering with an old sweetheart of one’s 
husband, especially when the comparison is 
not complimentary to the wife. 

Mary was nearly seventeen when Stuart 
was married; Mrs. Blake was twenty-five, 
though she did not look it at the time: 
now, Mary was thirty-six and looked ten 
years younger; Mrs. Blake was forty-five and 
looked ten years older; Mary was accom¬ 
plished and interesting, Mrs. Blake was not. 

Mary began to sing: “In My Heart There 
Lives a Song,’’ by Gena Branscombe; and 
the song did live in her heart. The beauti¬ 
ful words; the exquisite music and the thrill 
of joy in her voice, it was like a wonderful 
symphony played on the heart strings of her 
audience; it stirred the very soul. 

The women seated themselves about the 
spacious drawing room, and at the first note, 
the men came tip-toeing in quietly and stood 
grouped about the entrance to the dining 
room listening admiringly. 

When the singer finished, there was a 
round of hearty appplause and “encore,” 
“encore” rang through the rooms. 


HOMING 


211 


The gentlemen found seats, and as Mary 
protested gently, they insisted upon her 
singing another song. “But,” she said 
laughingly; “I have no wish to turn my 
hostess’ dance into a song recital.” 

Colonel Malvern came over with some 
music in his hand and placed it in front of 
Mary: “Please sing this, Miss Langford 
“On the Wings of Song.” . . . It is 

my favorite; please do,” he whispered with 
his most engaging smile; “we can always 
dance, but we can’t always have you sing 
for us!” 

Once more Mary’s silvery voice filled the 
room while every one sat enthralled and 
Stuart gazed pensively into the fire. 

“Surely the human voice, when it is di¬ 
vine, is like an Aeolian harp of a thousand 
strings,” thought Marvina. “Who among us 
have heard it in song, without the thought 
of all we hold most dear ? Memory awakes 
and the mind turns to cherished treasures, 
hidden away from mortal eye. 

Scenes, faces, hopes and fears pass in swift 
review, inspiring and quickening the soul as 
the dew reincarnates and brings new life to 
buds and blossoms. ... It recalls the 
fresh odors of Spring; the glory of summer, 


212 


HOMING 


the brilliancy of autumn, and the beauty of 
rose-colored sunsets on winter snow. 

The touch of a vanished hand, the coo of the 
babe, the joy of childhood, the caress of wife 
and mother, the moist and clinging lips of 
maid and mistress, ’neath the joyous delight 
of its sweet beneficence, love is deified; love 
of God and of life, of all animate and inani¬ 
mate nature.” 

And as she studied the faces of her guests 
who listened in profound attention, she 
thought, ‘Music is really the great spiritual 
charm of the universe, nothing so surely dis¬ 
pels the clouds of doubt and defeat 
so persistently invades the inner sanctuary 
of our affections—soothes, yet thrills the 
heart so strongly, appeals to all that is purest 
and best in that complex thing we term the 

4 • 1> M 

mind 

“All music hath charms and a place in 
history. . . . Without it, much that is 

noble and heroic and great and good would 
never have been written. . . . Surely, 

the sweetest of all sounds is the rhapsody of 
the voice, omnipotent, because born of hu¬ 
man effort . . . pleading and uplift¬ 

ing, because so nearly attuned to that har¬ 
monic intuition which can only come from 


HOMING 


213 


the whispering gallery of Heaven. . . .” 

“Thrice blessed be the sweet throated 
songsters who live to bless,’’ thought Mar- 
vina, as she pondered on, “as do the birds 
that fill the forest in Spring; whose notes 
are like the pearling rippling waters, bearing 
a message of faith and hope and charity to a 
wayward humanity . . . betokening an 

ethereal, yet positive presence 
commanding, yet plaintively pleading, . . . 
telling always, in ryhthmatic purity and mel¬ 
odious measures, the old, old story of laugh¬ 
ter and love, joy and sorrow, tears and tri¬ 
umphs, the beauty of friendship and the sub¬ 
lime consciousness of convictions. 
Inspiration wafted to us on the night winds 
of wanton witchcraft and yet—Heaven sent 
is the voice of woman in song; a gift from 
the Gods! Oh! wonderous power to appeal 
to the heart of man.’’ 

As these beautiful thoughts filled Mar- 
vina’s mind, she watched Stuart Blake. He 
had drifted away “On the Wings of Song;** 
he did not look at Mary, but, as he gazed 
into the fire, he saw her beautiful face just 
as plainly as he felt the thrill of her voice as 
she sang. 


Chapter 3 

I 

Stuart Blake spent a very quiet evening 
at the Thanksgiving dinner; one would 
never suspect the things that were going on 
in his mind, or the emotions that stirred his 
heart. 

After Mary’s song he had replaced the 
mask and put on his armor. 

Outwardly he was calm, uninteresting, 
because apparently uninterested; his atti¬ 
tude was such as to make one think him a 
man whose fountain of youth had prema¬ 
turely dried up; whose heart no longer re¬ 
sponded to human sentiments; whose ca¬ 
pacity for enjoyment had atrophied, as a 
result of lost confidence in humanity. He 
looked for all the world like a man who had 
taken the advice of the cynic: “Devote 
your three score and ten, you idiot, to get¬ 
ting ready to die; don’t laugh; let your face 
freeze, you fool, and let your mind dwell on 
bygones, and a world of woe! Don’t love 


HOMING 


215 


anything, anybody—’tis but a weakness of 
the flesh which the Creator carelessly over¬ 
looked in preparing the plans and specifi¬ 
cations, comprising the structural architec¬ 
ture and component parts of Adam and Eve, 
because of which there was that first affair!’* 

II 

If a friend had suddenly slapped Stuart 
Blake on the back and said: “Cheer up, 
old man; you look ready for the hanging!’’ 
He would have smiled his painful little smile 
and said, “Oh! I am all right; that is just my 
make-up!” 

As a matter of fact, it was not his make¬ 
up at all; it was a pose to protect this unin¬ 
terested cold exterior which Blake turned to 
a cold critical world. It was like the armor 
of the knights of old; a shield in life’s com¬ 
bat; a shield to protect a truly tender heart 
and sensitive soul. 

Marvina being an observant student of 
human nature, made this analysis of Blake’s 
character, in explaining just what she 
thought of Blake’s behavior during the 
evening of the Thanksgiving dinner. 

“You are very generous, my dear,” said 


216 


HOMING 


Bruce, “and you use rather flowery lan¬ 
guage. I thought his behavior most extra¬ 
ordinary, and very bad form. Why he sat 
around like a bump on a log; had nothing to 
say for himself, and finally disappeared en¬ 
tirely; and yet, in spite of his bad manners, 
he is a likeable cuss. ... I get very 
much out of patience with him, but I am 
hanged if I can help liking him!” 

“He is really a fine fellow at heart,** re¬ 
plied Marvina; ‘he is just soul-sick. . . . 

In enclosing himself in armor, he has shut 
out the great divine inflow; he is not ‘In 
Tune with the Infinite’ ... I shall 
send him a copy of Waldo Trine’s wonderful 
book; it is sure to help him find himself.** 

“That is a happy thought,*’ said Bruce; 
“there are enough fine thoughts in that book 
to cure the world’s ills, both mental and 
physical, if the world would only read and 
accept. . . . You amuse me very 

much, Marvina dear, picturing Blake as an 
armored knight. You should see him at the 
office; he sits there more like a mud-turtle 
than a knight, and he can draw in his shell 
just as quickly as the turtle, and snap just 
as forcefully.’’ 

“Well,” laughed Marvina, “‘we shall have 


HOMING 


217 


to see that the future head of the firm sheds 
his shell and reveals himself as my knighted 
hero.” 

This conversation took place after the 
party on Thanksgiving night; Marvina sat 
before her dressing table brushing out her 
long wavy hair, while Bruce sat in his bath¬ 
robe and slippers admiring her reflection in 
the mirror. 

“Well, seriously speaking,” said Bruce; 
“Blake has got to change; it is necessary for 
his own good and for the success of the 
firm; he is the proverbial wet blanket. 
There are seven important elements which 
are absolutely necessary to the foundation 
of success; hope, ambition, ability, strength, 
courage, confidence and enthusiasm! If 
one of these is lacking, the chance for suc¬ 
cess is weakened. Blake possesses only 
one of these elements: ambition. 

He unconsciously or otherwise, places his 
wet blanket over the enthusiasm of his co¬ 
workers, and retards our success; and suc¬ 
cess means so much! It doesn’t mean just 
our success: each individual success means 
a more successful world; it means the 
world’s work; it means the great invisible 
force which keeps the great economic wheel 


218 


HOMING 


turning, the great commercial machine in 
motion.” 

Marvina had stopped brushing her hair 
and turned to her husband; Bruce did not 
often philosophize; he was too boyish and 
carefree to be really serious, but once in a 
while he would get these philosophic moods, 
and at such times his spoken thoughts were 
a source of keen delight to his wife. It was 
as though he held up the mirror of his soul 
for her inspection; “these big thoughts are 
the real source of his perpetual youth and 
good humor: the secret of his glad heart,’’ 
reflected Marvina as she replied: 

“It’s a wonderful world, and filled with 
more meaning than most of us realize, that 
little word, ‘success’; but go on, dear, I love 
to listen to your real philosophy of life.’’ 

Bruce laughed a little; “I am not sure 
that I have a real philosophy of life,’’ he 
said, “but one thing I am sure of, and that 
is, the process of decay of both body and 
mind begins with the loss of enthusiasm, 
which forms the basis for hope and ambi¬ 
tion: once the spirit of enthusiasm is dead, 
a vital force of destruction soon follows.** 

“To acknowledge fear of failure, defi¬ 
ciency, or lack of ability, or to harbor doubt 


HOMING 


219 


in any degree, is to weaken the very founda¬ 
tion of achievement.” 

Success is born of effort, we know; but, 
my dear, it is stirred by enthusiastic confi¬ 
dence. The world only stands aside for a 
man who is courageous, and if he must face 
misfortune, faces it with a smile! But, here 
I am, rattling on and you are tired, dear!” 

He rose and put his arms about her: 
“There, I am going to tuck you in and say 
‘goodnight’ this moment.” 

As she yielded to his gentle caress, she 
smiled up at him and said: “I am a little 
tired, but, oh! so happy dear, and I am sure 
that between us, we shall be able to pull Mr. 
Blake out of his rut; all he needs is more 
love and more light, which brings a better 
understanding and a clearer vision.” . . . 

“I think you are right,” said Bruce, as he 
leaned over and kissed his wife “goodnight” 
He opened the windows, and then went to 
his room which adjoined Marvina’s, giving 
her a “goodnight” smile as he softly closed 
the door. 

Marvina smiled back at him: “God is 
love, and love enlightens the world,” she 
whispered as she closed her eyes to enter 
slumber land. 


220 


HOMING 


III 

Stuart Blake in the meantime paced the 
garden path of “Awari,” confronted with a 
situation which he had never dreamed ex¬ 
isted until that evening. 

For twenty years he had been married to 
the wrong woman; life had been merely an 
existence with a strange woman whom he 
did not know; with whom he had nothing 
in common. He had made a sort of habit 
of duty, and this realization had come to 
him suddenly as he sat by the fireside in that 
charming home, listening to the song which 
Mary had sung to his heart. 

Slowly he had realized that he loved Mary 
with all his heart, and that realization had 
given him a terrible jolt. For the first time 
in his life he was frightened. 

There was one very valuable virtue which 
always came to Stuart’s aid in time of need, 
—discretion. Not only did it always save 
him from sinning, but also from discovery, 
which in itself was even more important. 

/ “ ’Tis human to err, and common to re¬ 
pent, but being found out is inexcusable./ 
Transgression of some sort seems to be es- 


HOMING 


221 


sential to human happiness; without it, love 
would lose its priceless heritage of forgive¬ 
ness, and the star of virtue cease to shine,” 
thought Stuart as he pondered over his pre¬ 
dicament. 

Though he seemed to have no power over 
the present situation, Stuart felt sure, that 
to fall in love with another woman, was the 
height of transgression for a married man. 

It meant two wrongs; the one most 
wronged his wife: exceedingly unjust to 
the other woman. 

“Fate, that eternal Jester, is always busy 
making people victims of circumstance,” 
thought he. 

As he sat by the fire listening to Mary’s 
appealing, love-laden voice, he felt a mad, 
boyish impulse to go and stand by her side; 
to let her read his secret; to let the love in 
his eyes find its reflection in hers. 

‘‘What a mean trick that would be; I 
could not do that,” he thought, ‘‘not while 
there is a barrier between us! No matter 
how much the existing ties may torture me, 
I will never do that: I will be discreet; I 
must be, for her sake.” 

Then the memory of that ill-fated day on 
the little lake, so many years ago, rose once 


222 


HOMING 


more before him. He remembered the 
laughter which had died in her wonderful 
eyes, as Fate—hard of heart, grim and pit¬ 
hless—with its cold, keen-edged wit, had 
grinned in fiendish glee, and as Cupid flung 
his dart at random, gloated over the mis¬ 
chief wrought by his erring aim. 

VI 

Stuart forgot his surroundings, forgot his 
social obligations and all else, except the 
necessity of escape from temptation. He 
would not allow himself to speak to her, 
much as he had longed to do so; he did not 
dare to lay himself open to discovery. 

Suddenly, the room became close; things 
seemed to close in upon him; he felt as 
though he were smothering; he longed for 
solitude. He rose and fled from the room; 
out in the frosty air he could breathe and 
fight his problem out alone. 

To and fro he walked on the path by the 
side of the silvery silent lake, in pursuit of 
his lost poise. 

It is strange how an emotion so beautiful 
can bring with it black despair. Stuart 
could not face this situation which to him 



HOMING 


223 


seemed so hopeless and shameful with the 
same optimism with which he would have 
faced it fifteen or twenty years ago; that 
youthful optimism with which he greeted 
his uncle after the panic, had departed with 
the struggle of the years. 

He had lived with Velora a life which— 
with the exception of his children—had 
merely meant empty existence. Until to¬ 
night he had not realized how dull their life 
and its unrestful composjte of the common¬ 
place had been. 


VII 

As he walked up and down under the blue 
sky with its celestial jewels of moon and 
stars, and pondered on, he knew that he had 
been the dupe of the soul of youth, which 
with few exceptions, is blind, understand¬ 
ing only its desire, the mad tempest of the 
moment; ruling a heart which listens only 
to unreasoning wisdom. 

Somehow, all unconsciously, he found 
himself in the land of the “Might Have 
Been,” the land of many regrets, heart- 
throbs and sighs. 

In the divine presence of an all-powerful 


224 


HOMING 


love and passion, that physical soul-sense, 
—dominant and undeniable—that entirely 
human element which none the less is God- 
given ; that pure, because perfect love which 
makes, rules and glorifies the world, Stuart 
for a time became transformed and exalted, 
a condition so well understood when one is 
under its spell, yet defies analysis. 

“We might have wandered hand in hand 
down all these years, my only love! The 
years which have been so empty, might have 
been filled with the inspiration of your 
beauty, wit, charm and intelligence. To¬ 
gether we might have greeted each glad day 
and watched for the first stars to herald the 
nights, and every one a red rose.’’ 

“Curse the Fate that robbed me of all 
worth while in life—the love and compan¬ 
ionship of the one woman,’’ whispered the 
unhappy man to the night. . . . And 

the answer came back from the depth of 
conscience: 

‘Fate is only the consolation and the ex¬ 
cuse of fools.” 

Then, Duty, the Spectre, rose before his 
distorted mind, with somber face and 
scrawny finger pointing the way: Duty, the 
ruling destiny of his life. 


JL 


M A 




HOMING 


225 


Duty whispered in a harsh ugly voice, 
' There is honor, the chains of which though 
they may gall and torture unwilling flesh, 
are fast fettered. You must listen to the 
voice of Duty though your heart may break 
and you are damned forever! Your dream 
mush end,—you must not see her again! 
Through all the wintry years because of 
your country’s laws, although repealed in 
the Court of Love whose ruling since Crea¬ 
tion has been supreme, you must be loyal to 
an unloved wife, who stands convicted of 
love-thieving.” 

‘‘Love is many sided and subject to both 
material and spiritual interpretation. The 
sorrows and delights of past centuries have 
been ruled by this all-powerful emotion, it 
is not surprising that I should be disturbed,” 
thought Stuart. It takes its humble sub¬ 
jects down into the depths of black despair 
and climbs the mountain tops of joyous de¬ 
lights, but in its rosy morning there is found 
that which is divine indeed, because nearest 
to immortality.” ‘Why have I missed that 
rosy morning” he mused? ‘ Why did I 
choose the imitation instead of the genuine 
jewel?” 

The sound of rumbling motors on the 


226 


HOMING 


drive announced the departure of the guests, 
yet Stuart still remained alone out under the 
stars, fearing to look again upon what he 
had lost. . . . The sound of the last 

departing motor was dying away in the dis¬ 
tance, and from the windows of “Awari” 
the lights one by one disappeared. 

All was silent . . . and still a lone 

man wandered in his lost Garden of De¬ 
light. 


Chapter 4 


1 

Colonel Malvern took Mary home after 
the Thanksgiving dinner at “Awari.” 

She thanked him most graciously and 
waited at the door until he had departed, 
watching the smart little car disappear into 
the night. Then she slipped off her satin 
pumps and crept noiselessly up stairs to her 
cosy old-fashioned room, where the maid of 
all work had made a log fire to take off the 
autumn chill. 

It was one o’clock by the little gilt time¬ 
piece which was ticking merrily away on 
the mantlepiece. The logs had burned out, 
leaving a heap of coals, and the room was 
warm and comfortable. 

The old-fashioned cottage had recently 
been wired, and Mary switched on the 
shaded lights which adorned her antique 
bureau; quickly undressed and donned her 
comfy dressing gown and slippers as she 


228 


HOMING 


pondered over the events of the evening. 

Mary Langford did not claim to be angelic 
perfection; she was really very human, but 
she was a woman whose life was almost en¬ 
tirely ruled by the three Graces: Faith, Hope 
and Charity. She had every sweet gracious 
gift of body and mind, tho’ she was timid 
and over-modest because of her lack of asso¬ 
ciation with the outside world. We admire 
the beautiful peacock when it unfolds its 
magnificent beauty and struts out before an 
admiring world, but Mary had never un¬ 
folded her beauty; she had never learned to 
reveal her charms. What a pity! Beauty 
should be given to the world; beauty of 
mind and beauty of grace. God did not 
bestow it, only to have it hidden away; it 
is a blessing bestowed for the glory and 
good of humanity. 

Courtesy and kindness and fairness to 
friend and foe were among her many charm¬ 
ing characteristics, but there were times, 
when like all human beings she had to fight 
the devil and the flesh. Tonight there was 
a big fight on in Mary’s heart; she was 
sorely tempted to let the destroying evils, 
—jealousy and hatred—take possession of 
her soul. She was very tired, but not 


HOMING 


229 


sleepy; she longed to sit alone by the glow¬ 
ing coals and think, . . . ponder over the 

past, the present, and the cold, empty, 
lonely future. 

“So, that is what his ‘Golden Butterfly’ 
has become; just a huge lump of common 
clay; lazy, selfish and unlovely; a parasite 
feasting on the efforts of others.” 

Mary’s mouth twitched, and her eyes 
burned like the live coals on the hearth. 

“That is the woman he has loved?” She 
found herself whispering the words “has 
loved,” “can it be possible that he still loves 
her?” She is the mother of his children: 
they still live together, but she is not good 
enough.” 

Mary had sung and smiled and danced 
through the evening, but as often happens, 
the gaiety covered an aching heart, because 
all she had received from Stuart had been 
that one little nod of greeting while she sat 
at the piano, . . . had he purposely 

avoided her? Why? 

Mary knew that she hated Velora Blake: 
she was jealous of the woman who for 
twenty years had robbed her of what she 
felt was rightly hers; of the man she loved, 
of all that implied, husband, home, children, 


230 


HOMING 


. . . everything that was worth while 

in life. Velora could just as well have mar¬ 
ried some one else, but Mary was the kind 
that loves only once, and loves with all her 
soul; a deep, loyal, lasting, unselfish love. 

Suddenly she began to tremble; her head 
ached; she felt ill and utterly miserable. 
She rose and bathed her burning eyes and 
aching head in some cold water, then she 
looked at her face in the mirror; it was a 
strange, unfamiliar face unknown to her. 

“What is wrong with me?” she asked the 
reflection in the mirror, and then she sud¬ 
denly realized that she had allowed malice, 
hatred and jealously to creep in and poison 
her soul and body. . . It was this poi¬ 

son which had affected her body and §oul, 
had paralyzed her will, and had deprived her 
of her courage and self-control. “Evil in¬ 
fluences like these do not enter the heart in 
which perfect faith abides,” whispered con¬ 
science, “only those who believe can con¬ 
quer evil; only those who can master them¬ 
selves can know the sweet content of ser¬ 
vice; without faith, the soul must die and 
shrink down into black night shrouded in 
doubt and despair. Faith is the child of 


HOMING 


231 


love and the mother of laughter; I will keep 
my faith!” 

Then tears came as welcome as rain in 
the parched desert, and through them came 
a smile of hope, shining through these tears, 
like sunshine through showers. Hope 
that supernatural pledge of a 
brighter dawn and happier days to come; 
that light, which makes the future possible; 
Hope . . . that soothing balm with 

which a just God softens failure and defeat, 
and heals a hurt heart; Hope . . . the 

wonderful all powerful solace of the present 
and halo of the future. 

Mary was gradually winning her fight, 
step by step: the great soul was again com¬ 
ing into the realization of its oneness with 
God. The headache and nervous trembling 
left her; she went over to the fireplace and 
stood looking up at a picture of the three 
Graces, symbolized by the three Greek 
maidens in flowing robes. . . . some¬ 

how this picture always seemed to help 
Mary. 

“I have not been very charitable,” she 
thought, as she gazed at the picture, ‘‘but 
with Faith and Hope in my heart it is easier 
to be charitable; and surely, charity means 


232 


HOMING 


infinite love and understanding, and above 
all, forgiveness. Surely, charity was the 
most beautiful thing which lived in the heart 
of that most wonderful of all personalities, 
the Gentle Nazarene.” 

In perfect faith little tired Mary lay down 
to rest in refreshing untroubled slumber, to 
awaken with renewed hope on the morrow 
and charity for the dead day. 






Chapter 5 


I 

The morning after the Thanksgiving din¬ 
ner, Marvina came downstairs rather late, to 
find Mrs. Blake enjoying an ample breakfast 
all alone. “The men hurried off to the Val¬ 
ley View Golf Club,” she said, after the 
morning greetings, “they said we could mo¬ 
tor over and fetch them for luncheon.” 

“Really, I must apologize for my tardi¬ 
ness,” said Marvina; “I always indulge in a 
little laziness after a big party; I feel that I 
deserve it; nine-thirty, dear me, how time 
flies. . . . Our good husbands are evi¬ 

dently feeling rather energetic this morn- 

• f 9 

mg. 

“So it seems, but husbands are queer mor¬ 
tals as a rule,” replied Mrs. Blake; “they are 
usually energetic when it comes to doing 
what pleases them, but if one tries to get 
them to use a little of that energy in a fox 
trot or one step, most of them assume that 


234 


HOMING 


martyred tired business-man attitude, which 
is sure to take all the joy out of life. Your 
party was a tremendous success, Mrs. 
Mansfield; how on earth can one woman 
have so much energy! I don’t think I have 
ever seen anything so beautiful; I should 
not mind the country if it were always as 
gay as last night.” 

“There is a great deal of entertaining go¬ 
ing on in the community; too much really, 
I fear; most of us work too hard at having 
a good time. I am glad you liked the party, 
and I wish you would stay over until Mon¬ 
day; 1 would love to show you about a bit!” 

Marvina was being served dry toast, 
poached eggs and coffee; Mrs. Blake was 
just finishing a very ample portion of oat¬ 
meal and bacon and eggs, candied potaoes, 
buttered toast, marmalade and coffee. 
“You are very kind, my dear, but I have a 
theatre party on for tonight and besides, I 
have a new nurse for the baby, and servants 
are so untrustworthy! One never knows 
what may happen if they are left alone for 
twenty-four hours!” 

“Children are wonderful,” said Marvina; 
I can understand your anxiety for them, but 


HOMING 


235 


the joy of motherhood makes up for all the 
cares and anxieties, I think.” 

‘‘Some times I am not quite sure of that,” 
replied Mrs. Blake; ‘‘of course Virginia is 
nearly sixteen, and has been very little trou¬ 
ble or care to me, because I had my mother 
with me from the time she was born until 
my mother died, about a year ago. Mother 
was wonderful, she took full charge of the 
children and the housekeeping; since she 
passed away I have been simply lost!” 

‘‘How very selfish,” thought Marvina, but 
aloud she said: ‘‘You were very fortunate 
to have your mother take those responsibili¬ 
ties off your shoulders for so long and I am 
sure you must miss her dreadfully, but your 
daughter is old enough to be a real compan¬ 
ion for you now and your younger daughter 
must be a real joy!” 

‘‘Yes, that is all true; but now, that I no 
longer have my mother’s help, I find the re¬ 
sponsibility of the baby very trying. She 
is only two years old; she was one of those 
surprises that sometimes come to us late in 
life, and after fourteen years she certainly 
was unexpected. 

“Just the same, it must be delightful to 
have a little sunbeam like that in the house 


236 


HOMING 


at this time of your life, I think youth re¬ 
flects youth, and there is nothing like a baby 
in the house to instill youth in the house¬ 
hold,” said Marvina. 

‘‘That may be true, but as much as I love 
the baby, she gets on my nerves. I could 
not stand to have the full responsibility of 
her,” replied Mrs. Blake, ‘‘and when I knew 
that I was to become a mother again after 
fourteen years, I almost went crazy: you 
see, I am so fat and so much older I was 
sure it would kill me, and at that time, I as¬ 
sure you, I was a very strong convert to birth 
control! I wept the whole time and begged 
my husband to prevail on the doctor to do 
something to prevent further development 
but it seems nothing could be done.” 
‘‘Nothing could be done” they said, but 1 
think this was only because of the longing in 
Stuart’s heart to have a son.” 

Marvina really felt sympathetic toward 
this modern mother as she listened to the 
perplexities, responsibilities and cares in¬ 
volved in her experience of motherhood. 

‘‘Your husband simply adores the little 
one,” she said, ‘‘He was telling us in a proud 
fatherly fashion all about her cute baby 


HOMING 


237 


ways and sayings the first time he came 
out.” 

“Yes,” replied Mrs. Blake, ‘‘she is a very 
beautiful child! My poor mother said she 
was the very image of me when I was a 
baby; she has the same violet eyes and gol¬ 
den hair, but I really believe Stuart thinks 
more of Virginia, who is very much like her 
father, both in looks and manner!” 

Just then they were interrupted by a 
piano introduction and a fresh young voice 
came floating down from the music room. 

“What an adorable daughter you have, 
Mrs. Mansfield, and what a beautiful voice 
she has; I thought she sang quite as well as 
her teacher last evening.” 

‘‘Yes, Marjory is a great joy in my life, 
she always has been and I feel sure she al¬ 
ways will be; you must allow Virginia to 
come out and visit Marjory; she loves to en¬ 
tertain just as much as I do; I think it is in 
the blood of us Southerners; we are never so 
happy as when our home is filled with our 
friends.” 

‘‘Thank you, I am sure Virginia would 
enjoy being here; she is very serious 
minded; she insists on a career and is going 
to college next year. Marjory is just the 


238 


HOMING 


kind of girl Virginia likes, for though Mar¬ 
jory looks and acts quite like the modern 
Miss, still there seems to be something 
quaint and sweetly old-fashioned about her. 
I am very sorry your son is not home, I have 
heard that he is a splendid fellow, and judg¬ 
ing from his photographs he is certainly a 
handsome chap.” 

“We miss him very much; he is spending 
the Thanksgiving holidays with a college 
chum, and it is the first time he has stayed 
away on Thanksgiving; but he will be home 
at Christmas. He will be twenty-one his 
next birthday, and he is as big as his father 
now. We usually have the house full of 
young people for Christmas, and we would 
love to have Virginia join us at that time.” 

“Thanks so much, I am sure she would 
love to come and I will arrange it,” replied 
Mrs. Blake. After mother’s death I gave 
up our house in West End avenue and took 
an apartment. I just felt I could not stand 
the constant worry and aggravation about 
the servants; of course the apartment makes 
entertaining at home rather difficult, and 
house parties an impossibility.” 

“That is one reason why I could never 
live in the crowded city, or adjust myself to 


HOMING. 


239 


apartment dwelling,” replied Marvina; it 
seems to me the place for children to have 
a good time is in their home; if they must 
depend upon public entertainment such as 
picture shows, theatres, hotels, cafes and re¬ 
sorts I fear they are likely to come in con¬ 
tact with an environment which will have a 
bad effect on the young mind. Both Mar¬ 
jory and Bruce, jr. are home-loving chil¬ 
dren.” 

‘‘Yes, a home is very lovely, indeed, if one 
has plenty of competent servants and unlim¬ 
ited means, but otherwise I prefer a hotel, 
because in the city one really only uses the 
home as a place to go to sleep; a sort of con¬ 
venience anyway.” 

Marvina having finished her breakfast, 
sat back in her chair and listened while Mrs. 
Blake chatted on. 

‘‘And is that what Mr. Blake’s home 
means to him; a convenience, a place to 
sleep,” thought Marvina. ‘‘Is that symbolic 
of the American home of today? I hope 
not! If that is so, then we should start a 
society for home restoration at once.” Look¬ 
ing at Mrs. Blake, Marvina thought: ‘‘Has 
she ever had one spark of unselfish passion 
in her?” 


240 


HOMING 


'•*' i 


“There are so many apartment hotels 
these days, with every possible convenience, 
that I have been thinking seriously of ask¬ 
ing Stuart to sublet our apartment and take 
rooms in one of those palaces of comfort. I 
have two friends living at the Langdon; 
they have three large rooms, a bedroom for 
the two children and their own bedroom, 
with baths, showers and large closets, and 
there is a beautiful large living room. There 
are no household bills, and no servants to 
bother with; there is excellent maid service 
and they can either go down to their meals 
or have them sent up; its really wonderful. 
Of course, Virginia will be in college in win¬ 
ter, and in summer she expects to go to the 
girls camp.*’ 


II 

Marvina was getting a little out of pa¬ 
tience with this idea of a mother planning to 
deprive her children of a home because of 
sheer selfishness, and as she was most anx¬ 
ious to be amicable to Mrs. Blake she was 
rather glad that Marjory came tripping in 
just then and relieved the situation. 

“Good morning, lazy little mother,” said 


HOMING 


241 


Marjory teasingly, as she stood behind her 
mother s chair and pulled her face up to kiss 
it:” ‘‘I was the first up this morning! I had 
just finished having breakfast with Mr. 
Blake and Dad when Mrs. Blake joined us. 
It is after ten mother, and Dad said: ‘‘Please 
come over to the club about eleven, because 
Mr. Blake wished to take Mrs. Blake over to 
his old home before luncheon; they have 
planned to motor over to Newark, and take 
the tube in after luncheon.” 

Marvina smiled at Marjory and slipped 
one arm round her slender waist, while she 
glanced at her wrist: ‘‘Why, my dear, we 
have actually been chatting here for an 
hour! Its ten thirty; you run and bring the 
car around Marjory dear, and Mrs. Blake 
and I will get our bonnets on; and would 
you mind driving for us? Uncle George is 
busy this morning taking up bulbs.” 

Addressing Mrs. Blake Marvina said: 
‘‘Speaking of servants, my dear, those I 
have are excellent, and I am most fortunate 
in that respect, but I have not half enough. 
Servants are the most expensive luxuries 
there are now-a-days. Uncle George is the 
cook’s husband; he is the gardener and 
chauffeur and really the Jack-of-all-trades; 


242 


HOMING 


then I have the cook who also does the laun¬ 
dry; the butler who is my husband’s old ser¬ 
vant, and an upstairs girl. With the four 
we are obliged to get on. We have twenty 
rooms, and about six acres of gardens and 
lawn, so you can imagine that there is much 
left in the way of management and other 
duties for Marjory and me.” 

‘‘You are an excellent manager,” said 
Mrs. Blake, ‘‘I have three servants in my 
apartment, of course we have to keep a 
nurse and then I have a cook and maid, and 
I am obliged to change every few weeks.” 

The sound of the motor horn at the door 
caused the women to hurry off and fetch 
their coats and hats, and ten minutes later 
they were speeding along in the direction of 
the golf club. 


Chapter 6 

I 


“We must have contrasts—so it seems— 
for purposes of comparison and in order to 
appreciate the good and the beautiful. If 
the devil were to die, the Great God Good¬ 
ness would have no reason for existence, 
and humanity would drop to a demoraliz¬ 
ing dead level,” thought Marvina, as they 
motored along. “Surely the contrast be¬ 
tween characters is the most interesting of 
all studies.” Marvina was anxious to see 
how a visit to the birthplace of her youthful 
romance would affect Mrs. Blake. She had 
watched Mary; had seen her flush and then 
turn pale; had seen her lips tremble, as she 
turned away to hide her emotion, that first 
day she had visited the old homestead with 
Stuart Blake. 

As Marjory drove up to the Club, Bruce 
and Blake came forward, followed by the 
caddy with the equipment. “Well, good 
morning, ladies; we had begun to think we 


244 


HOMING 


were forgotten,” laughed Bruce: “Get in 
Blake.” Blake climbed in as he greeted 
Marvina. 

“Good morning, Mr. Blake,” said Mar¬ 
vina, in answer to his greeting; “did you 
have a good game?” “Not particularly, re¬ 
plied Blake; “neither of us can really play,” 
he continued—making an attempt at a teas¬ 
ing remark to Bruce who thought himself 
an excellent player—“but we had some very 
good exercise, so that we have gained the 
point in view anyhow!” 

Turning to his wife he said: “You won’t 
know my old home, Velora; its all dolled up 
with sleeping porches, sun-parlors, open 
piazzas, bathrooms, telephones and all the 
rest of it, and the gardens are greatly im¬ 
proved.” Marjory had turned the car and 
started down the valley road. 

“How far is Broad Acres from here?” 
asked Mrs. Blake; “1 don’t remember the 
country at all: I was only out here twice.” 

“You can see the entrance gate from this 
hill,” said Marvina, and she pointed to two 
towering stone gate-posts about a mile 
ahead. 

“Well, at least civilization is growing 
nearer to it,” replied Mrs. Blake, “all I re- 


HOMING 


245 


member about it is that it was in the back 
woods, and I could never understand why 
people want to live in the back woods.” 

“We used to be about a mile from the vil¬ 
lage,” said Blake, “but the village has grown 
to be quite a town and the incorporation 
post is right next to the old gate-post now. 
Of course as the estate consists of over a 
hundred acres and the house sets back on 
the border of the lake, the growth of the 
town can never spoil the seclusion of the 
place.” 


II 

As the car turned into the lane, Blake 
leaned forward and said: ‘‘Miss Marjory, 
would you please stop up there, by the old 
orchard? We built a sort of swimming 
pool up there, and I would just like to see if 
it is still there.” 

Marjory pulled up under the bough of an 
old apple tree which had shed most of its 
foliage, but still clung to some of its blood 
red fruit. She turned a smiling face to the 
occupants of the car and addressing Blake, 
said: “May we all go to inspect your 
swimming pool, Mr. Blake? You may, 


246 


HOMING 


replied Blake; "and 1 will explain about the 
workmanship; it really required quite a bit 
of engineering.** 

They all alighted and started single file 
down an old path through the old orchard 
with Blake in the lead. “I suppose this 
was sort of a primitive bath tub,** said 
Bruce, turning to Mrs. Blake whom he had 
tried to assist in her attempts to make her 
way in satin pumps over the overgrown 
path. 

Mrs. Blake, looking very much annoyed, 
replied: “I think most things about the 

country are primitive; the country is simply 
a place for snakes, mosquitoes and other 
pests.*’ 

“Well, don’t look at me when you say 
that,*’ laughingly replied Bruce. 

Just then Mrs. Blake’s filmy crepe skirt 
became hopelessly entangled in some briars 
which were lying concealed in the path, and 
the whole thing seemed so utterly ridiculous 
to her that she began to laugh heartily 
at the attempt of Bruce to disentangle 
it. When they finally joined the others 
at the swimming pool, Stuart, Marjory and 
Marvina stood looking very interestedly at 


HOMING 


247 


a clear pool of water not much larger than 
a good-sized wash tub. 

“Just think, this is all that is left of my 
beautiful swimming pool!*’ “And we 
worked so hard to build it," said Stuart. 
“Mother would not allow us to swim in the 
lake because of the treacherous holes and 
undercurrents, and so we built this. We 
hunted up the springs, then we got stone 
and sand and cement, and after building the 
pool, we led the different springs into it by 
trenching them, so they all joined in one big 
stream and flowed into the pool: and now 
look, the one big stream has washed down 
the wall of the pool and goes rushing on 
down the hillside as though the pool had not 
been here at all." 

“For the life of me, I can’t imagine why 
you drag people through the weeds and 
briars to look at an old mud hole," said Mrs. 
Blake. 

Marvina looked from Mrs. Blake to 
Stuart: she saw him shrink back in his ar¬ 
mor as though to protect himsef from future 
blows. Before he had a chance to answer, 
Marvina made a cup of the palms of her 
hands and lifted some of the pure sparkling 
water to her lips: “It isn’t a mud hole; it 


248 


HOMING 


is a pure sparkling stream: see, how clear 
and beautiful the water is!” She drained 
the improvized cup and dried her hands on 
some nearby foliage. 

Ill 

Mrs. Blake turned and walked back to the 
car as though her only emotion was bore¬ 
dom, if that can be called an emotion. 

‘‘Poor woman,” thought Marvina; “how 
utterly miserable she must be, if she is blind 
to all this beauty about her, and the meaning 
of it all; all this smiling landscape, color- 
crowned and glorious, dotted here and there 
with cottages, groves, flocks and pleasant 
pasture fields, beautiful beyond comparison, 
and doubly glorified ’neath an autumn sun. 
This quiet pool where her husband played 
in happy boyhood, hidden away from pro¬ 
fane intrusion, fern clad and sheltered by 
bush and bough . . . was it in this 

secluded spot, that all the glorious anticipa¬ 
tions of manhood came to Stuart Blake?” 

It was to this spot he had wandered in the 
moonlight many years ago with the ‘‘Golden 
Butterfly,” thinking it a fitting shrine for 
love’s confessional. It was here, at even- 


HOMING 


249 


tide, he had told the old old story to his mate, 
as they listened to the call of the whip-poor- 
will from somewhere in the moonlit dis¬ 
tance. Here, he had confessed to the con¬ 
suming flames of a soul-compelling passion, 
inspired by the desirable youth and beauty 
of the woman who had called this clear bub- 
ling stream a mud hole . . . she had 

thought this a mud hole, and he had thought 
a flaming passion of youthful manhood was 
an immaculate, unselfish, enduring love 
Ah! One can think wrongly and 
one can be mistaken; anyway, they were 
wonderful moments, both in harmony and 
in sentiment, those youthful moments in the 
moonlight . . . listening to the gurg¬ 

ling spring and the call of the whip-poor-will, 
alike ravishing and bewitching, and filled 
with a pledge of untold happiness. The 
pledge had been fortified, *tis true, but 
Stuart Blake had hoped she might remember 
as he did, ... it was plain she had 
not, whereas to him this wee bubbling 
stream was like a song of sweetest melody 
coming to him from over the hills of yes¬ 
terday. 


250 


HOMING 


IV 

Marvina rambled about the old orchard 
and fields in silence, as Stuart pointed out an 
old landmark here and there: then they 
joined the others in the car and continued 
on up to the old house. As they passed the 
haunted cottage, Marvina shivered slightly 
as she remembered their former experience. 

On reaching the house, Aunt Harriet and 
Uncle Bill came out to greet the visitors. 
“Hello, Aunt Harriet,” said Velora, her face 
brightening up at the unexpected sight of 
her old cook and nurse. 

“Fo* de Lord sake, is dat you, Miss Velo- 
rie? Well, I sho’ never would ’er knowed 
yo, but fer Mister Stuart. My, my, but yo* 
sho’ has got fat! Why, I use to lift yo* 
bout like a little chile when you was sick; 
I sho’ is glad td see: and how is my little gal, 
spose she is a young lady by now)” 

“Yes, Virginia is sixteen, and I have a 
little girl two years old. Stuart did not tell 
me you were here.” 

“Yes ma’am, we been heah eber since you 
all go to de city.” The others had walked 
on ahead, and Aunt Harriet said: “Won’t 


HOMING 


251 


you all come in and see de ole house? Its 
bin all fix up since yo’ all was heah.” 

“Yes,” said Velora; “it does look a little 
more civilized,” as she entered the big old 
fashioned living room. Velora went up to 
Marvina and said smilingly: “Pardon me, 
Mrs. Mansfield, I hope you won’t think me 
nosey, but did you order luncheon before 
you left? As we left in a hurry I thought 
you might have forgotten. 

Marvina stopped short in her admiration 
of a fine antique Flemish oak cabinet, and 
after a moment of utter astonishment, smil¬ 
ingly reassured her guest: “I always attend 
to planning my meals the day before, when 
I have guests; luncheon will be served im¬ 
mediately after our arrival home!” 

Within herself she thought; “Ye Gods, 
what a woman; has she a soul, or is she 
just a walking appetite!” 

As Velora seemed bored to tears and en¬ 
tirely uninterested they all got back in the 
car, after Stuart and Uncle Bill had gone the 
rounds of the old house and the grounds, 
and Aunt Harriet had treated her visitors to 
some wonderful home-made cider, and had 
emptied a basket of apples in the back of the 


car. 


252 


HOMING 


“How is the family ghost, Uncle Bill, is 
she still about?” 

“Yes sah, sho’s yo born, and she ales 
gwine to be dah till some un done move her 
body; dat woman don’t wanna lay by de 
side of dat man what mudder her chile! Yo 
see if yo all jess moves her body, dat po* wo¬ 
man’s spirit will res’ in peace till de judg¬ 
ment day!” 

“Well, perhaps you are right, Uncle Bill; 
we might get permission to do that,” he 
looked at the others and saw that they were 
trying to suppress a smile, so he said good¬ 
bye, and the party were again on their way. 

V 

“We will ride down through the town,” 
suggested Marvina,” and show Mrs. Blake 
how much the place has improved.” Mar¬ 
jory turned to the left and motored along 
through the old Main street, with its con¬ 
glomeration of old fashioned colonial farm¬ 
houses and well kept modern cottages, with 
little shops tucked in here and there. Noth¬ 
ing was said, until they reached the center 
of the town, then, suddenly Mrs. Blake ex¬ 
claimed : ” ‘ ‘There is an ice-cream store, 


HOMING 


253 


Stuart, do run over and get us all an ice¬ 
cream cone!” 

Bruce looked horrified and Marvina 
nearly laughed out loud, but she had a 
happy thought: ‘‘Wait until we get home,” 
she replied, ‘‘luncheon will be waiting and 
if we don’t hurry, I fear it will spoil.” 

Marvina knew that Bruce—like most 
Englishmen—loathed ice-cream, and she 
could not possibly imagine him with his face 
in an ice-cream cone, newsboy fashion. 

But Mrs. Blake was insistent and finally 
had her way about it. To be polite, Bruce 
accepted the cone, took a nibble much to 
Marvina’s amusement, and quickly dropped 
his cone outside the car, while no one was 
looking, but the others like good sports fin¬ 
ished theirs to the last piece, even though 
the party looked a bit like an urchin’s picnic. 
After that they hurried home: Bruce and 
Blake discussed some business proposition 
in the back of the car, while Marvina 
chatted with Mrs. Blake up front. After a 
hearty luncheon, during which Mrs. Blake 
partook of every dish as if she had not had 
a bite to eat since days and days, the party 
motored over to Newark, which was about 
a half hour’s run. On saying good-bye, 



254 


HOMING 


Mrs. Blake insisted on having the Mans¬ 
fields in for dinner and the theatre during 
the following week, and so it was arranged. 

“1 have enjoyed myself immensely,” said 
Mrs. Blake, on saying good-bye to her hos¬ 
tess, ‘‘but what a pity that such a splendid 
home and charming hostess, and especially 
such a wonderful cook, should be tucked 
away in the wilds.” 


Chapter 7 

I 

Stuart Blake had not found becoming a 
millionaire in New York quite as easy as he 
had anticipated, in spite of his uncle’s expe¬ 
rience, his own youthful ambition, and 
capacity for work. 

For seventeen years he had toiled unceas¬ 
ingly without a vacation, without recrea¬ 
tion; ambition had worked him hard: he 
had become a sort of human machine, a sort 
of “Robot,” with a face like parchment and 
eyes that were as hard and cold as steel. 

Through lack of recreation and exercise, 
he had become a dyspeptic, which made him 
irritable and nervous, but through it all, 
there was one thing which Stuart Blake 
never lost sight of: duty to his family and 
friends, and duty to business. Yet there 
was a most important duty, which he had 
unconsciously overlooked; his duty to that 
great God-given machine, the human body. 
“Your body must have proper care,” advised 


256 


HOMING 


Stuart’s doctor. “If that most remarkable 
of all little engines, the human heart, is to 
continue functioning properly, there is no 
man made machine on earth that can com¬ 
pare with this God made tiny apparatus. If 
the body is taken care of this little engine 
very often continues to pump away night 
and day for over a hundred years. If the 
body is neglected, all sorts of ills result, both 
physical and mental, until the inevitable 
end.’’ Stuart paid for the doctor’s advice, 
but did not take it. 

Seventeen years—all work and no play— 
had not brought satisfactory results to 
Henry G. Slader and Company; it is true 
they had made money; the debts had all 
been paid off the first five years; there was 
the seat on the stock exchange worth a hun¬ 
dred thousand dollars, and the firm had a 
working capital of half a million. 

Still the earning capacity of the firm had 
only reached two hundred thousand per 
year, and the firm was yet classed with the 
small houses in Wall Street. 

It was the realization of all these things 
that induced Stuart Blake to suggest to his 
uncle the advisability of taking in one or 
two partners. 


HOMING 


257 


Let us go on a hunt for brains; what we 
need is some new blood in the firm. I 
believe we have brain fag; grown stale on 
the job; something is wrong, Governor!*' 
“Perhaps you are right,” replied Slader, 
we should be at the top of the ladder long 
ago. New people coming in may be able 
to see where the mistakes are; it often 
works that way!” 


II 

Two weeks later Richard Sheldon and 
Bruce Mansfield were induced to join the 
Slader forces. Six months later the four 
partners were sitting at the conference 
table, discussing ways and means of speed¬ 
ing up the organization. 

“It is always difficult to come back,*’ said 
Sheldon; “it is really better to start all over 
again, but if we reorganize in the proper 
way, I believe we can make a big success of 
this firm: we have made a pretty good 
showing during the past six months!” 

“Yes,” said Mansfield, “and we are go¬ 
ing to make a much better showing during 
the next six months. One can’t fall from 
the top of the ladder, as Mr. Slader did, with- 


258 


HOMING 


out being injured, and the injury makes the 
climbing back difficult. One of the weak 
spots of the firm is the timidity of its head; 
its the old story of “a burned child dreads 
the fire.’ Mr. Slader talks about ‘thou¬ 
sands’ to men who are thinking in ‘mil¬ 
lions,’ and the man who is thinking in ‘mil¬ 
lions,’ is the big man; the man with a broad 
vision, and he is sure to think the man who 
talks in ‘thousands’ small minded. Mr. 
Slader’s vision has been clouded by his un¬ 
fortunate experience, and that must be 
cured before we can have any real success!” 

“You are right, Mansfield,” replied Sla¬ 
der; “however, if you had been through 
what I have been through, you would un¬ 
derstand that condition!” 

“We have not done badly, considering,” 
said Blake; “when I came to join the Gov¬ 
ernor he was in a pretty bad hole; the debts 
were heavy, the losses staggering, but we 
have managed to get out of the hole, and we 
have a firm grip again, though the struggle 
has undoubtedly weakened us a bit. Now 
we must reinforce our organization, weed 
out the parasites, keep only the people who 
are alert, wide-awake, willing workers.” 

“Yes,” answered Mansfield, “there are at 


HOMING 


259 


least three salesmen who are loafing on their 
jobs; you need a better sales manager, and 
you need a different office manager.” 

“And,” said Blake, ‘‘we are paying too 
much for these offices. I have been look- 
iug about and I have found a suite of offi¬ 
ces, consisting of the entire floor, with every 
room flooded with light and air. Its on the 
seventeenth floor, with a fine view of the 
harbor, and its a third less than these, which 
are gloomy and where one must work by 
electric light all day, which in itself is de¬ 
pressing.” 

‘‘That is splendid,” replied Slader, ‘‘we 
will have a look at them at once!” 

‘‘And before we adjourn,” said Mans¬ 
field, ‘‘I want you to be sure that I am go¬ 
ing to put over that big South American 
deal: it will put us on the map again. What 
this firm needs is more enthusiasm, more 
courage, more vision, more optimism, more 
inspiration. Let us rise to the dignity of 
Wall Street bankers; let us not remain a 
mediocre bond house.” 

Mansfield had managed to instill some of 
his enthusiasm into all those present, and 
when they parted, each felt rather exalted; 


260 


HOMING 


the spirit of coming triumph showed in their 
tired eyes. 


Ill 

The bachelor partner on his departure, 
took the subway to Seventy-second street; 
his mind was filled with plans for the future 
development of the firm. He was in a 
very happy, optimistic frame of mind. At 
Seventy-second street he alighted and 
walked briskly toward Riverside Drive, 
stopping at one of those palatial apartment 
houses, he stepped into the elevator, and 
was lifted to the fifth floor. He tapped lightly 
on the first door to the left; anyone else 
would have pushed the electric bell, but this 
special little tap conveyed a special message 
to someone who was waiting within. The 
door was swung open as if by magic and 
Dick Sheldon stepped into the cosey little 
love nest. 

“Sorry to be late, little queen,” he apolo¬ 
gized, “but there was an important confer¬ 
ence which I had to attend.” 

At the first challenge of her rosy lips, the 
cares and anxieties of the day vanished, 
“man’s nature must ever respond to the 


HOMING 


261 


rustle of silk and flutter of lace: he must 
ever bow low before the throne where 
Venus holds court,” thought Sheldon, as he 
held his little queen in his arms. 


IV 

Henry G. Slader dined quietly with his 
invalid wife. She retired early, leaving him 
to devote his time to his beloved books, but 
at ten o’clock he put on his hat and silently 
left the house, as was his custom, to take a 
walk down ‘‘the drive;” this quiet, open air 
exercise before retiring was conducive to 
restful repose. The financier had often ex¬ 
plained to his wife. 

Ten minutes walk brought him into the 
presence of one who had the power to 
change the discords of life into blissful har¬ 
mony for him. ‘‘How stronge is life—how 
complex, and filled with puzzling problems! 
How fraught with momentous deeds, with 
tragedy, great aspirations, blessed dreams, 
sacrifice, success and black despair! Yet 
through it all runs the golden thread of ro¬ 
mance,” thought the great financier as he 
silently strolled along. For ten years this 
romance had lived in the heart of Henry 



262 


HOMING 


Slader, all unsuspected by his friends and 
neighbors. How much this beautiful wo¬ 
man meant to him, no one would ever 
know; her abode was his sanctuary; she 
was his “Father Confessor!” It was to 
her that he spoke of his hopes, his tempta¬ 
tions, his struggles, his disappointments 
and hideous fears—his unutterable joys and 
his unspeakable griefs, of which the rest of 
the world knew nothing. . . . He 

loved her with all his heart and her love had 
been his heaven. 

Eveline Reece extended a glad greeting 
to her benefactor; he had her loving respect 
and everlasting gratitude, for through his in¬ 
fluence and aid she was gradually reaching 
the realization of her dreams; she was be¬ 
coming a famous sculptress. 

V 

Stuart Blake sank back in his seat; he 
felt tired and somehow lonely after the 
others had gone. He closed his eyes and 
tried to visualize the future, the firm’s fu¬ 
ture—his future—but his vision was cloud¬ 
ed; he had become a pessimist. He would 
have liked to be going home to talk over the 




HOMING 


263 


clay’s doings, the future plans for the suc¬ 
cess of the business, but Velora would not 
understand, and besides, she hated business 
as much as she loved food. He sighed a 
little as he put on his coat, locked up and 
started on his journey home. At the 
entrance to the Park Avenue apartment 
house where he lived, he was halted by the 
shrill noise of a motor horn; looking up he 
saw Velora hurrying along in her smart two 
seated roadster, her face flushed and ex¬ 
cited. 

“Stuart dear,” she burst out, before he 
had time to speak: “What do you suppose? 
I have been held up for speeding, and really 
I wasn’t going over twenty-five miles per 
hour; that nasty policeman just wanted to 
show his authority.” 

“But where were you held up, dear?” 
asked Stuart, always indulgent where Ve¬ 
lora was concerned. He felt it a sacred 
duty since the birth and death of their first 
born. 

“I was hurrying in from Westchester; I 
went up to Stella’s, to a bridge party; we 
did not stop playing until half past four, and 
then Stella served a young banquet, and I 
was afraid I would not be here when you 


264 


HOMING 


arrived and that you would be worried; but 
you are late, too, aren’t you?” 

“Yes,” replied Stuart, ‘‘I was detained at 
a conference; but, aren’t you going to get 
out?” he inquired, as he noticed that she 
kept her seat. 

“Stuart dear, I was wondering if you 
would mind going to a restaurant to dinner: 

I had a row with the cook this morning and 
she left; there is not a thing in the house.” 

Stuart nodded assent and clunbed into the 
seat next to her. 

“We will go to Linden Gardens,” she 
smiled in triumph; “The Dixons and Rey¬ 
nolds will be there, and they say one can get 
the best food and wonderful wine served 
openly in iced containers just like the olden 
days, and one is not obliged to sip it from 
coffee cups, which entirely spoils the charm 
of it.” 

Stuart once more smiled his painful little 
smile as he was whirled away, and before his 
tired eyes rose a vision of beautiful, quiet, 
home-loving little Saint Mary, and the cool 
quiet old homestead in the beautiful New 
Jersey hills.” 


HOMING 


265 


VI 

Bruce arrived with all his enthusiasm 
blazing up in his soul. Marvina was wait¬ 
ing rather anxiously for him. 

“Sorry to be late, dear,” he said, with his 
contagious smile: “tried to get you on the 
phone, but the line was busy!” 

“Ah, well, now that you are here, it is all 
right!” she smiled up at him as she led the 
way upstairs. Marvina perched on the 
edge of the bath tub as was her custom, and 
Bruce began to review the day’s events; the 
fine spirit of the partners; the new office 
plan; the progress of the big South Ameri¬ 
can deal. 

“We are going to put it over, old dear,” 
he said, and having submerged his face in 
the clear cold water, and rubbed it to a rosy 
glow, he leaned over and kissed her. 

He went into his dressing room and took 
from his brief-case a London cable. 

“I brought this home to show you: you 
have heard of the house; it is one of the big¬ 
gest houses in London; they have practi¬ 
cally accepted our proposition.” 

“Isn’t it wonderful,” said Marvina; “the 


266 


HOMING 


charm of business is absolutely irresist- 
able!” 

“Yes,” replied Bruce, “especially when 
things go right. This deal is going to 
put us on the map, the old firm is coming 
into its own at last, and 1 am just as glad for 
Slader and Blake as I am for Sheldon and 
myself. Slader and Blake are pretty fine 
old boys, and we are going to be successful: 
we are going to make money and a name; 
big money and a big name; and quickly 
too!” 

“Of course you are,” agreed Marvina, as 
she smiled up at him; then tucking her hand 
in his, school-girl fashion, they went down 
to dinner. 

And thus the four partners went their 
different ways; into different environments; 
which reflect so much on the life, character 
and accomplishments of each individual. 


Chapter 8 


I 

The Blakes had postponed the dinner and 
theatre party to the Mansfields, because Mrs. 
Blake had planned to move; she had, be¬ 
tween coaxing and nagging, succeeded in 
getting Stuart’s consent to take a hotel 
apartment at the Langdon. She had taken 
him to see it, and with the accurateness of 
the first class agent, she had pointed out to 
him all the advantages—both in comfort 
and economy—to be obtained by the 
change. 

“Think how much we will save on the gas, 
light, service and laundry: and there is 
really every possible convenience. The 
nursery is all paneled in ivory and hung in 
buff and blue; its just darling. Then there 
is the living room, done in Italian, and an 
alcove adjoining it, with a desk and book¬ 
shelves which you can use for your study, 
and each of our bedrooms has private bath 


268 


HOMING 


and shower, and one can always get rooms 
for guests! They always keep some rooms 
in reserve for transients.” 

‘‘Well, if you really like it Velora we will 
take it,” said Stuart. 

‘‘I think it is adorable,” replied Velora. 
‘‘And it will be just heavenly to be rid of all 
the worry and annoyance of servants and 
housekeeping. I loathe the thought of it, 
and it’s making a nervous wreck of me!” 

Stuart smiled his painful little smile as 
he said: ‘‘It can never be home, Velora; it 
will be a sort of roost, just a place to hang 
one’s hat!” 

His mind traveled back over the years to 
the old homestead where the lamp was 
brought in, and a pleasant half hour was en¬ 
joyed in congenial conversation as the 
family sat around the dinner table. 

“Well, I can’t possibly understand what 
more you require,” said Velora; “I am sure 
you will like it as much as I, once we are 
settled here.” 


II 


Two weeks after the party at “Awari,” 
the Blakes welcomed their guests, Mr. and 


HOMING 


269 


Mrs. Mansfield and Marjory, not into their 
home, but into their hotel. 

Mrs. Blake came forward to greet them, 
with a smile that completely obliterated her 
eyes, in a much beaded black gown, her 
golden hair piled in profusion on top of her 
head, her flesh restrained in brassieres, long 
hipped corsets and many straps. 

“Glad to see you all again,” she said, 
shaking hands with her guests. “Stuart and 
Virginia are dressing. I have reserved 
rooms for you just across the corridors; I 
will show you to them and you can dress 
for dinner at once, as we will dine early in 
order to be on time at the theatre. We have 
planned to dine here.” 

To the waiting porter she said, “Please 
take Mr. and Mrs. Mansfield’s things to suite 
five fifty and five fifty-five,” and she led the 
way to see her guests comfortably settled. 

“It is splendid of you to have us, Mrs. 
Blake,” said Marvina. “Its such a treat for 
us to have an evening in town; we so seldom 
come, that it is thrilling to see these wonder¬ 
ful electric signs, tall buildings and traffic, 
and the endless procession of motor cars on 
every street is truly most remarkable.” 

“Isn’t it?” replied Mrs. Blake. “And it 


270 


HOMING 


is all most convenient. The traffic con- 
jestion is a source of much worry to the city 
officials; it seems to be their most difficult 
problem. If a motor car stops at 42nd 
street, it holds the traffic up all the way up 
to 142nd street. For that reason we have 
to start early when we go go down town to 
the theatre; one can never know just how 
long it will take to arrive at one’s destina¬ 
tion.” 

‘‘Serves you right for living in this roaring 
mass,” said Bruce, smiling as he opened the 
bags which the porter had placed on a table. 
‘‘Better build out near us and get out of the 
traffic; lots of breathing space out there.” 

‘‘But its lots more comfortable here for 
me,” replied Mrs. Blake. ‘‘I have aboslutely 
no responsibility of housekeeping, and its 
such a relief.” 

With a contented sigh and a smile she left 
them, saying; ‘‘As soon as you have dressed, 
just come over to our living-room; the door 
will be open.” 

‘‘Ye Gods, what a woman,” said Bruce 
when she had gone. ‘‘The human dread¬ 
nought! How can such a big head be so 
empty; so much waste space!” 

‘‘Dad, one does not speak that way of 


HOMING 


271 


one’s hostess,” said Marjory, as she gathered 
up her things from the open bag and pre¬ 
pared to retire to her own room which was 
adjoining. 

“The poor woman can’t help being fat, 
and I have known many fat people who were 
very nice and very lovable. Look at Aunt 
Florence for instance, she is perfectly dar¬ 
ling, and all her friends simply adore her!” 

This mild rebuke from Marjory amused 
Marvina very much. Constant association 
with her elders had given the child a sort of 
quiet sophistication that was always a sur¬ 
prise—even to her friends—because with 
it all she retained every captivating charm 
of youthful loveliness. 

“Yes,” replied Bruce, “but your Aunt 
Florence is a woman with the charm of 
personality. She is fat because God made 
her so, and not because she is a silly, selfish, 
idle glutton, who is fat because of over-in¬ 
dulgence. This woman stuffs herself full of 
French Pastry and—and ice cream cones,” 
finished Bruce, quite out of breath and look¬ 
ing very disgusted. 

At the mention of ice cream cones, 
Marjory and Marvina both laughed, and 
with a knowing little wink at her mother, 



HOMING 


2 72 

Marjorie departed to her own room with her 
arms full of feminine frills. 

Ill 

Three quarters of an hour later the 
Mansfields entered the living room as re¬ 
quested by the hostess, to find a table in the 
middle of the room with covers for six 
people, and the Blake family ready to re¬ 
ceive their guests. 

After Blake had greeted the Mansfields, 
Mrs. Blake presentd her eldest daughter, 
Virginia. She came forward demurely, but 
with a very cordial warm-heartedness in her 
greeting. She was tall, and had a pensive 
expression in her wonderful big brown eyes. 
She was not beautiful, but decidedly attrac¬ 
tive in her unaffected girlishness. Her 
extreme paleness made Marvina think of a 
flower that loves the sunshine, but has been 
planted in the shade; sure to grow up tall, 
spindling and colorless. 

Virginia’s first smile was for Marjory. 
The girls seemed to take an instant liking 
for each other. 

Dinner was served at once: two German 
waiters buzzed about, over-solicitous, as 


HOMING 


273 


though expecting an ample tip from the 
generous host. 

The dinner was fairly good, though the 
hostess was a bit too generous in pressing 
upon her guests all sorts of dishes, while she 
explained the plans for the evening. 

“We are taking the girls to the theatre 
with us, but Stuart will fetch them home 
after the performance and will meet us at 
the “Rose Bower,” a new supper palace; I 
have never seen anything like it; you will be 
sure to enjoy it. They have not used a 
decorator to do it, but a landscape artist, and 
the syncopated orchestra is wonderful!” 

“I am sure I shall be quite overcome, Mrs. 
Blake,” said Marvina. “Of course Bruce 
comes into town every day, and the big city 
is not such a novelty to him, but its been 
fifteen years since 1 was obliged to live in 
New York, and I always feel a bit like a 
school girl on a picnic when I have the 
pleasure of one of these outings, though I 
as sure I would not like it as a steady diet.” 

IV 

Mansfield changed the subject by remark¬ 
ing how successfully the new South 
American loan was going. 


2 74 


HOMING 


“That was a lucky strike, old man, and 
now to top it with something bigger !” 

Stuart’s face lighted up a bit. “Yes, that 
deal has done great things for us, though I 
am afraid some of us will have to get out 
and visit the big cities. Much is lost by not 
personally covering the enormous outside 
territory.’’ 

“Yes, 1 have thought of that too. You 
are right, but who is it to be?’’ 

“Well,” replied Stuart, “there is not much 
to prevent me from going,’’ his eyes roaming 
about the room. 

Marvina looked up quickly as he spoke, 
thinking she detected a strange note of help¬ 
less longing in his voice. For the first time 
she noticed a decided change, some of the 
sharp coldness had gone from his eyes; they 
seemed pathetically dull and shadowy. 

There were lines at the corners of his eyes 
and a pathetic droop to his lips; all this, 
though expressing depression, yet was soft¬ 
ening and not unlovely. One could not 
help being a little sorry for him. 

“We will call a conference and discuss it 
on Monday, shall we?’’ 

“Surely,’’ said Stuart, “in the meanwhile 
I will draw up an outline of the plan with a 


HOMING 


275 


list of the cities, it will take about six months 
to do the thing properly.*’ 

Dessert was now being served and Mrs. 
Blake having finished a large dish of cream 
and an ample slice of cake was filling up the 
crevices with nuts and raisins. 

The girls were chatting together in a low 
voice, and apparently getting along very well 
together. 

Just as the two men were about to light 
their cigars, and have a little chat over their 
coffee, the waiters came in and, at a nod 
from Mrs. Blake, whisked away the table, 
dishes and all, leaving the dinner party with¬ 
out a table, and all seated in a circle, not 
unlike a spiritualistic meeting. 

“I am sorry, but we must hurry,” said 
Mrs. Blake; ‘‘you know how long it takes to 
get down through the traffic, Stuart, and we 
don’t want to miss any of the play. Its 
that new musical play, ‘Isle of Dreams,* and 
they say its perfectly beautiful.** 

The telephone on the desk rang. Virginia 
answered. “It’s the car, Mother,” she an¬ 
nounced. There was a hurried rush for 

\ 

wraps and the party was off. 


Chapter 9 


I 

“Isle of Dreams” proved to be a very 
beautiful play, with excellent music and ex¬ 
quisite scenery. 

After the play Mr. and Mrs. Blake, and 
their party, stood on the sidewalk waiting 
for their car to come up in the slowly mov¬ 
ing procession. 

Broadway with its huge electric signs 
blinking gayly, illuminating the world’s 
gayest thoroughfare, shone down on a con¬ 
glomeration of swarming humanity, the like 
of which is to be seen no where in the world 
except in New York City at the hour when 
the theatre gives up its crowd, and when 
from every box, parquet, balcony and pros¬ 
cenium there comes a steady stream of 
wealth, beauty and gayety to make a mid¬ 
night revelry. 

As they settled down in the comfortable 
limousine and started slowly up Broadway, 


HOMING 


277 


Marvina could not help but marvel at the 
miracle. 

“I simply can’t understand where all the 
people come from or where they go: every¬ 
thing moves, the lights, people and cars; it 
really makes one’s eyes ache.” 

Velora’s eyes sparkled with delight. “Its 
wonderful! There’s nothing like it; I just 
love Broadway, and especially at this hour,” 
she said. 

‘‘Looks like a huge mad-house to me,” 
said Bruce. “I am glad I don’t have to see 
much of it; I love to hear a good concert or 
see a good play, but to have to mingle with 
this mad throng spoils it.” 

‘‘That’s just what I love about it; strange 
how people differ. We are going to meet 
the Dorseys and the Raymonds at the ‘Rose 
Bower’ and make up a party of eight. You 
are sure to like Mrs. Raymond; she is an 
English girl, very young and pretty, and a 
divine dancer.” 

‘‘Here we are,” said Stuart. ‘‘Do you 
think I should see the girls home or will it 
be all right to let the chauffeur drop them?” 

The girls answered before anyone else had 
a chance to speak. ‘‘Please don’t bother, 


278 


HOMING 


Dad,” said Virginia; ‘‘we will be perfectly 
all right.” 

‘‘Surely we will,” agreed Marjory. 

The party alighted. Stuart gave direc¬ 
tions to the chauffeur, while Velora asked 
Virginia to order some refreshments to their 
rooms on their return, and, after the usual 
good-byes and warnings to be careful, the 
car slowly moved away and the Blakes and 
the Mansfields entered the palacial building 
in which was installed the famous cabaret 
known as the ‘‘Rose Bower.” 

Over the doorway was a huge arch 
covered with red roses fashioned of tiny 
electric lights symbolizing the name. 

II 

A few moments later the party found 
themselves in an enchanted garden; no 
king’s palace possessed a larger ballroom. 
The hundreds of tables resplendent in dainty 
crystal, glistening silver and snowy white 
damask, set with buds and blossoms, and 
shaded lights was both beautiful and elegant. 

The entire ceiling of the enormous room 
was transformed into an oval lattice from 
which hung climbing rambler roses; between 


HOMING 


279 


the buds and green vines one could catch a 
glimpse of a star-studded sky, all artificial, 
but so fashioned by the artist that the effect 
was marvelous. 

The head waiter came forward with a 
bland smile, while his aids stood at attention. 
He led the way to a little bower in the far 
end of the room, from which there was a 
view of the entire picture. 

Here Mrs. Blake found her friends waiting 
and the Mansfields were introduced to the 
Dorseys and Raymonds. When the party 
was seated, Stuart walked around the table 
and lifted a small cloth that covered some 
mysterious bottles on the corner of the table. 

“Which one of you is responsible for 
these substantial donations?” he inquired as 
he added three more flasks to the supply 
from various pockets. 

“Raymond brought the Scotch,” said 
Dorsey, “and I am guilty of bootlegging the 
two bottles of cocktails; send me the doctor’s 
bill,” he finished laughing. 

The party began chatting gayly. Stuart 
asked for small glasses and served an excel¬ 
lent cocktail from Mr. Dorsey’s bottle. 

From the jungle of palms and ferns, which 
concealed a murmuring waterfall, came the 


280 


HOMING 


muffled sound of saxaphones, trombones, 
and other instruments that make up a mod¬ 
ern syncopated orchestra. 

Another moment, and there came floating 
down the beautiful room under the diffused 
glow of kindly lights, an array of pretty 
girls and gallant cavaliers, dancing to the 
weird, plaintive, long drawn notes which 
actually seemed to have a mesmeric appeal 
to their very souls; such undulating, slinky 
sliding harmony, it would be difficult to im¬ 
agine. 

The Blake party began to dance. Bruce 
glided off with the willowy Mrs. Raymond; 
Mr. Raymond danced with Mrs. Dorsey; 
Stuart asked Marvina to dance, but she 
pleaded weariness and said that she preferred 
to look on; Mr. Dorsey asked Velora to 
dance and nearly collapsed when she con¬ 
sented. She started down the long room 
with a labored role, resembling a storm- 
tossed dreadnought on the high seas. 

It was too much for Marvina’s sense of 
humor; she could not help laughing, but 
then bit her lips as she realized that Stuart 
was watching her. 


HOMING 


281 


III 

“Have you ever heard such tantalizing, 
teasing music?” asked Marvina, “and seen 
so many beautiful women? Look at that 
dark-eyed dainty little creature at the second 
table, Mr. Blake; the one in the blue and 
gold brocade; isn’t she beautiful? Why, 
she can’t be much older than Marjory!” 

Stuart turned his head slightly and saw a 
beautiful girl in all the rosebud charm of her 
youth; winsome, bewitching and wine- 
flushed. Not a woman present but envied 
her brilliant wit and charm; not a man who 
did not gaze in profound admiration. 

The waiter filled her glass and she clinked 
it with her companion’s and drained it to the 
last drop. The man looked at her with un¬ 
disguised admiration in which was blended 
that beastial desire for her body; the thirst 
of the human vampire 

Stuart smiled his painful smile; more 
painful than ever Marvina thought. 

“That’s what makes me sick about these 
places; we see so many of them, not yet 
wholly wrecked and still in sight of shore, 
but with never a helping hand! She finds 


282 


HOMING 


plenty of willing escorts to hell,” he said 
bitterly, ‘‘and it won’t be long before that 
poor little thing will be cast up by the 
waves!” 

Just then the music stopped and the 
dancers came back, Dorsey mopping his face 
and Velora puffing like a porpoise. 

‘‘Whatever have you two been talking 
about?” she inquired looking from Marvina 
to Stuart. ‘‘You look like a crepe hanger, 
Stuart.” Without waiting for an answer 
she continued, ‘‘what do you think of this 
place, Mrs. Mansfield, isn’t it glorious?” 

‘‘It is truly very wonderful; never have 
I seen so much artificial beauty!” 

‘ These are the rendezvous in which your 
tired business men relax, my dear! Look 
at them; the place is filled with them: they 
come here thinking they won’t be seen. They 
remind me of an ostrich with his head in the 
sand. Look about and see how many you 
recognize from Oak Dale!” 

“That is unkind, Mrs. Blake,” said Bruce, 
“you include all tired business men in that 
statement, and that is not true. I never fre¬ 
quent these places, and I don’t imagine your 
husband does either, except when you ac¬ 
company him!” 


HOMING 


283 


Marvina nudged Bruce under the table to 
warn him. 

“There are exceptions to every rule of 
course,” said Velora. 


IV 

The second course was being served, the 
glasses were refilled, and Mr. Raymond 
began a story. 

Marvina gazed about the room in utter 
amazement. In the little balconies which 
gave a strange semblance of seclusion, bald- 
headed Romeos leaned across little tables 
toward their Juliets; glasses tinkled merrily 
as the bottles on the tables became empty 
and were discarded. 

Was Velora partly right? Was this the 
playground of the tired New York business 
man? 

Slowly and stealthily the strains of a fox¬ 
trot came floating in from behind the jungle. 

Among the seductive harmony of silken 
skirts and voices ripe with laughter, and glad 
greeting, mingled the merry dancers. 

“It seems true after all,” thought Mar¬ 
vina, “and I wonder if it is really so wrong, 
so long as they play fair!” 


284 


HOMING 


There they were—no mistake about it— 
those tired business men, just boys again— 
delightful, happy, laughing boys, stepping it 
right merrily, worshipping at the shrine of 
wine, woman, and song. 

Suddenly Marvina started and bit her lip. 
Whirling past, with an arm full of rose fluff 
and blonde tresses, was Willard Hanley, a 
neighbor of the Mansfields at Oak Dale. She 
looked over quickly at Bruce, but he had not 
seen him, he was busily engaged in listening 
to a story from Mrs. Raymond. Glad that 
Bruce had not seen, she followed Hanley 
with her eyes . . . He had seen her, 

but somehow he knew intuitively that she 
would not tell. 

Ethel Hanley was one of Marvina’s dear¬ 
est friends. She was a sweet little mother 
and a loyal wife; her husband was always 
kind and devoted to her. 

Thinking of the two women, the beautiful 
little Broadway butterfly floating over the 
ballroom floor with Willard Hanley and his 
charming little wife, protected and happy in 
her quiet lovely home, provided for by the 
father of her children whose slumbers she 
guarded as they dreamed happy dreams by 
her side—Marvina could not help being 




HOMING 


285 


sorry for the poor little butterfly enveiled in 
the sensual incense of unbridaled mirth. . . 
just a moth flitting about the soul consuming 
candle. 

Out in the fresh air . . . “God, but 

its good to breathe the fresh ozone once 
more,” whispered Marvina to Bruce, “and 
I say dear won’t it be good to be home 
again ? 


V 


Chapter 10 

I 


Christmas brought a gay throng of young¬ 
sters to “Awari.” It had always been the 
children’s time. Barrels of holly with its 
crimson berries, crates of mistletoe and 
evergreens had been shipped up from the 
old homestead in the Southland. 

The house was a forest of sweet smelling 
ferns, spicy pine and brilliant color. A big 
log fire sparkled and crackled in the huge 
fireplace. 

Outside the beautiful rolling hills were 
covered with pure white snow, and crowned 
with crystal trees which glittered and spar¬ 
kled in the sunshine—like a fairy forest o: 
priceless gems; over all hung a turquoise 
sky of tenderest blue. 

The lake was frozen and smooth—like a 
sheet of silver; over its smooth surface 
glided the merry skaters, their eyes gleam¬ 
ing, their cheeks flushed with the rosy glow 
of health. 



HOMING 


287 


Surely this is ideal Christmas weather," 
said Bruce, as he picked up his skates and 
started out; "those youngsters think they 
can skate; just watch me," and with his 
boyish smile he stalked off toward the lake. 
"Aren’t you coming out?" he called back to 
Marvina. 

"Now, my dear," she replied, "how am I 
to go out when I have fifteen youngsters to 
feed and lodge?" 

The wintry sun slowly glided down be¬ 
tween the earth and sky, a red ball of flame 
dyeing the snow-covered hills a deep rose, 
and flooding the crystal forests with a thou¬ 
sand rainbow hues. 

The sound of youth’s joyous laughter 
came floating through the frosty air to 
herald the approach of merry revellers: 
Bruce Mansfield, Jr., Douglas Deane, his 
classmate at college, Marjory, Virginia 
Blake, Doris Lee, Curtis Clayton and a 
dozen others. 

"How long before dinner, Mother?’’ 
called Bruce, Jr., "we are about famished." 

"Your normal state," answered his 
mother with a laugh; "we are going to dine 
at six, because afterwards we have to trim 
the tree—two trees in fact—one in the 



288 


HOMING 


music room and the big tree in the drawing 
room; so don’t dress for dinner. All of you 
go to your rooms and just tidy up a bit.” 

The boys and girls deposited their skates 
and outer garments in the big closet in the 
entrance hall, and went trooping up to their 
rooms in a whirl of laughter and gay chatter. 

II 

After dinner the servants brought in two 
step ladders and a dozen boxes of ornaments 
and the process of trimming the trees began. 
The boys stood on the ladders, tying on the 
big shiny balls, draping the silver rain and 
gayly-colored lights, while the girls un¬ 
packed and handed them up. 

The girls were flying about, tying clusters 
of mistletoe under the chandelier at the en¬ 
trance to the dining-room and over the stair¬ 
way, and arranging a wreath of holly here 
and a garland of pine there. 

Bruce, Jr.—called “Junior” by his family 
and friends—turned on the radio, tuned in 
for the orchestra at the Commodore Hotel, 
and, as the music from the air suddenly filled 
the room, Junior unceremoniously, clasped 
Virginia Blake in his arms and whirled down 


HOMING 


289 


it •tfi’NPP'-' IF I 

the room; Douglas Deane followed with 
Marjory, and half a dozen others stopped the 
decorating to finish the foxtrot. 

One of the girls, who was making a yard 
around the tree, fashioned with artificial 
grass and a miniature picket fence, threw a 
quick glance in the direction of Douglas and 
Marjory. 

“Doug certainly is crazy about Marjory. 
He has been courting her for two years; he 
graduated this spring, and I shouldn’t be a 
bit surprised if we aren’t going to have an 
announcement before the Christmas house- 
party breaks up!’’ 

“That would be wonderful,’’ replied her 
companion. “I do hope Marjory will ask 
me to be a bridesmaid; I was her room-mate 
at boarding school.’’ 

“Isn’t her brother good looking? He 
seems to be quite smitten with that New 
York girl he is dancing with, though I am 
quite sure I don’t know what the attraction 
is; she is a quiet, colorless little thing; no 
pep at all.” 

Just then the music stopped and the 
dancers stood about the tree. 

“Let’s finish the job and get all this junk 
out of the way,” said Junior, “then we can 


290 


HOMING 


move the furniture back and take up the 
rugs and have a real dance!” 

He mounted the ladder with an arm full 
of tinsel garlands and began to drape them 
about the tree. Two or three others were 
tying ornaments on the lower branches, and 
several boys and girls were gathering up the 
empty boxes and waste. 

“Throw them into the cellar, boys,” 
called Junior, “There we are.” He switched 
on the lights and the big tree instantly be¬ 
came a thing of illuminated beauty. He 
descended and removed the ladder: there 
was a gasp of admiration. 

“Now, on with the dance,” he said, as he 
shouldered the ladder and started toward the 
cellar. 

“Where are Mr. and Mrs. Mansfield?” 
asked Virginia, as she helped Marjory re¬ 
move some holly leaves and pine branches 
which had fallen on the window seat. 

“Ah,” said Marjory, “Mother and Dad are 
always closeted with Santa Claus on 
’Christmas Eve. There are always last 
minute packages to be wrapped, and last 
moment plans to be made: they get loads of 
fun out of this.” 


HOMING 


291 


III 

At eleven thirty Mr. and Mrs. Mansfield 
came down to join the youngsters. 

“If you expect to be up in time for dinner 
tomorrow,” said Marvina, “you had better 
be going to bed. Every one of you should 
be in bed before twelve, because we have an 
informal dinner at one o’clock tomorrow and 
you will be dancing late tomorrow night; 
besides, you have to give Santa Claus a 
chance, you know!” 

“Santa Claus indeed; better give a man a 
little quiet rest in his own house,” said Bruce 
with a pretense of grouchiness. 

The boys and girls stopped dancing rather 
reluctantly, and said goodnight to their 
hostess and host. Marjory and Junior 
stayed until the last, to see if there was any¬ 
thing they could do to help in the final 
arrangements. 

Finally the house was quiet. In the 
stillness Bruce and Marvina banked pyra¬ 
mids of gifts under the Christmas tree; an 
attractive present for everyone. Then they 
stood hand in hand to admire the beautiful 


292 


HOMING 


tree with all the gay packages in holly rib¬ 
bon and pretty cards. 

“Do you remember the first Christmas 
tree, dear, when Junior was only a few 
months old? We had lots of fun trimming 
it in our little flat in London.” 

Marvina looked up into his face, there 
were tears in her beautiful eyes, but they 
were tears of joy. “It seems only a little 
while ago, Bruce dear. The Gods have 
been good to us.” 


Chapter 1 I 


I 

Christmas day came with all its gaiety 
and the evening brought the community’s 
younger set to “Awari;” a dazzling bevy of 
youth and beauty—boys and girls from six¬ 
teen to twenty-two. 

Bruce and Marvina mingled with the gay 
youngsters, happy in their gladness and re¬ 
joicing. 

“Bruce dear, have you noticed little 
Virginia Blake? She looks quite trans¬ 
formed. There is a new light in her eyes; 
she seems to reflect all the happiness about 
her; she is positively pretty.’* 

He looked across the room and saw Junior 
smiling down into the laughing eyes of 
Virginia. 

“Strange, what environment will do,’’ he 
said, “I didn’t know the child could laugh. 
By the way, that would be rather an ideal 
match, dear; I am the only member of the 


294 


HOMING 


firm who boasts of a son. Someone must 
carry on, and she is a fine sensible girl.” 

‘‘Bruce, you are a schemer,” laughed 
Marvina, ‘‘besides the children are too young 
to be thinking seriously of such things.” 

‘‘Same age you and I were, dear, when 
we became partners and pals for life.” 

Martin announced Mr. and Mrs. Roland 
and Miss Roland. Marvina hastened to 
greet these old friends and their daughter, 
who had motored over from Mapleton. 

The music began, and at the first note 
the voices and ripple of laughter softened 
and each youth with a girl swayed to the 
fascinating rhythm of the music as they 
went gliding down the long room under a 
bower of Christmas green. 

‘‘What a lovely picture they make,” 
thought Marvina, as she viewed the scene 
with pride, ‘‘howbeautiful is youth at home; 
how beautiful the girls look in their pretty 
frocks of soft tulle and fluffy lace.” 

Some boys who had motored over from a 
nearby town came in and Junior brought 
them over to be introduced to his Mother 
and Dad. After the introductions Junior 
inquired, ‘‘Have you seen Marjory, Mother? 
I want the boys to meet her.” 


HOMING 


295 


“I saw her dancing with Douglas a mo¬ 
ment ago. You take the boys to the cloak 
room, and I will try to find her for you.” 

Marvina wound her way through the 
crowd of merry dancers to the spacious 
solarium; in a far corner under a huge palm 
she got a glimpse of Marjory. She looked 
like the very personification of lovely girl¬ 
hood in her dance frock of snowy white 
lace with its cluster of rosebuds at the waist. 

Douglas Deane was seated by her side in 
earnest conversation. Marvina smiled as 
she gazed on the age-old picture of young 
lovers. 

“Junior will have to wait; I would not dis¬ 
turb them for the world,” thought Marvina 
as she smilingly turned away. 

II 

Douglas Deane was the kind of a boy a 
girl couldn’t help liking; strong, magnetic, 
good-humored and exceptionally good-look¬ 
ing. He had led Marjory to the secluded 
seat under the palm, to tell her something he 
had longed to tell her for more than a year. 

“Marjory,” he began slowly, “you must 
know that I love you: I have loved you ever 
since the first day I met you.” 

Marjory blushed and smiled up at him, 


296 


HOMING 


“I most certainly knew nothing of the sort,** 
she said, “and besides you don’t have to 
make love to me just because we have been 
pals for so long, and because you are a fra¬ 
ternity brother of Junior.’’ 

“Please don’t say that, Marjory dear; I 
love you, because you are the most adorable 
girl in the world and I want you to be my 
little pal always. Won’t you, Marjory?’’ 

“We are too young to think of marrying 
Doug; why, you aren’t out of college yet 
and 

Douglas seized her hand and pressed it 
tenderly, as he looked longingly into her 
blue eyes. 

“Don’t tease me, please, dear. I have 
waited just as long as I can. Tell me that 
you love me, that you will marry me,’’ he 
cried passionately, “you are glorious, you 
are wonderful, you will inspire me to do big 
things. Let us set out together in the morn¬ 
ing of Life and climb the heights together, 
dear.’’ 

She looked into his eyes, her voice trem¬ 
bled slightly . . “I love you, dear. I 

think I have always loved you, and perhaps 
you are right . . . the morning of 


HOMING 


297 


Life may be the best time to start our life’s 
journey together.” 

‘‘And you’ll marry me?” 

‘‘Yes,” she whispered softly. 

Douglas drew her suddenly into his arms 
and kissed her: ‘‘You are an angel, Marjory, 
and I am going to worship you!” 

She returned his earnest look with a smile 
and answered slowly: ‘‘not an angel, but the 
happiest girl in the world; which I think is 
much better.” 

‘‘I am graduating in the spring and Dad 
is going to take me in with him as a depart¬ 
ment manager at first; then there will be a 
partnership later. Can’t we be married in 
June?” 

For a long time they sat hand in hand, 
talking, laughing, dreaming and planning 
for the future. 


Chapter 1 2 

I 

April, the light and shadow month, came 
to awaken the earth from its winter sleep. 
The second of April was one of those sunny 
days when the warm sun rays kiss away the 
last bit of frost from the earth and calls the 
spring flowers from their winter slumbers. 

Mary Langford, who came every Wednes¬ 
day to give Marjory a music lesson, was 
walking in the garden with Marvina after 
having finished. 

“Your garden is beautiful, Mrs. Mans¬ 
field,” she said; “I never cease to marvel at 
the miracle of Spring, and you have so many 
of the spring flowers of which I am most 
fond. Perhaps you will exchange some 
roots and bulbs with me ? I have some very 
wonderful dahlias and chrysanthemums 
which I will bring over, and I would like to 
have a clump of those snowdrops if you 
could spare them.” 

Stooping over to lift the moist sod from 


HOMING 


299 


a cluster of dark green snowdrops, which 
were lifting their heads slowly from their 
winter couch, Marvina cut out a square of 
the sod containing several roots of the deli¬ 
cate spring flower. 

‘There you are,” she said, smiling up at 
Mary: ‘‘If you take them home and plant 
them at once they will never know they 
have been moved, and it really does them 
good to be thinned out. I will come over 
and get some of your dahlias and chrysan¬ 
themums some day. Thanks very much. Its 
such a joy to get out into the garden with 
my trowel and rake and scratch about when 
spring comes; I just love it.” 

‘‘So do I,” replied Mary: ‘‘it’s so wonder¬ 
ful to find the pale green tips of the daffodils 
breaking their way through the snow, but 
it’s more beautiful and interesting to watch 
April clean house. With her showers she 
washes the old earth clean, using the wind 
for a broom, and her warm sunshine to dry 
and bleach.” 

‘‘Marjory and I were watching the ice 
disappear from the lake today; it began to 
thaw at the upper end, and as it broke up, 
the wind caught and swept it away; in a few 
hours the lake was a ripple of clear blue 


300 


HOMING 


water . . . She may be shadowy and 

fickle, this Lady April, but she is a good 
house-wife. With her wind brooms she 
sweeps the forests and hills . . Have 

you seen her tackle a pile of dead leaves 
where they have lain all winter and disperse 
them in a moment?” 

“I have never heard it put that way be¬ 
fore,” said Marvina, ‘‘but it is a very beau¬ 
tiful thought, Mary, and I do love the way 
April dresses up her nature house. The new 
carpet of emerald green loveliness: the 
curtains of delicate green foliage against the 
blue canopy of the sky; the white, gold and 
rose of the fragrant spring blossoms; the 
first warble of the bluebird; it’s really good 
to be alive in April.” 

Just then Martin came hurriedly across 
the garden. 

‘‘Pardon, Madame, there is a phone call 
for Miss Langford. It’s Miss Langford’s 
maid, and she said she would like to speak to 
her mistress; that the message was most im¬ 
portant.” 

Mary turned a little pale as she hurried 
across the garden to the telephone, followed 
by Marvina. 

‘‘Come home as quickly as you can, 


HOMING 


301 


Miss Mary; your father has had a stroke. 
I have telephoned for the doctor. Please 
hurry Miss, I'm afraid he is very bad.” 

‘‘I will come at once,” answered Mary in 
a trembling voice. She hung up the re¬ 
ceiver and turned to Marvina to tell her the 
distressing news. 

‘‘Father has not been well for some time; 
he is nearly eighty years old and I am afraid 
his condition is very grave.” 

‘‘Just a moment,” said Marvina, ‘‘I will 
get the car out and Marjory and I will go 
home with you. There may be something 
we can do.” 

II 

The doctor’s car was at the door when 
Marvina drove up. Mary rushed into the 
house, followed by Marvina and Marjory. 

In the quaint old-fashioned living room 
the doctor, who was an old friend and de¬ 
voted admirer of Mary’s, came forward to 
greet her. One look at his face told the 
story. 

‘‘He just passed away quietly, without 
pain, Mary. I am sorry, I could do noth- 

• tt 

mg. 


302 


HOMING 


A smothered sob escaped from Mary’s 
white lips. 

“He was all I had in the world; the last 
home tie is broken.” 

Desolate tears trickled down her colorless 
face. 

Marvina led the weeping girl to an old 
fashioned settee and groped about for some 
consoling words; her lips trembled as she 
looked upon the beautiful distressed face of 
her friend. 

“Don’t worry, Mary dear,” she said, “you 
know that the event we call ‘Death,’ is only 
the beginning of the great adventure; the 
realization of somthing far more beautiful 
than anything we have ever known. I don’t 
believe it is good to grieve.” 

Marjory brought a glass of cool water 
from the spring which Mary accepted as she 
smiled through her tears; then, addressing 
the doctor she said: “I should like to go to 
him now, Dick.” 

Ever since childhood, Mary had called Dr. 
Richard Wayne “Dick,” and the doctor had 
spent many years in vain effort to make 
Mary Mrs. Dr. Dick, as he had been called 
since he came from college twenty-two years 
ago and started practicing at Valley View. 


HOMING 


303 


Dr. Dick led the way silently. 

Marjory dear, will you take the car home 
and tell Dad what has happened? I will 
stay with Mary and will telephone later, 
though I don’t think I will leave Mary at all. 
I think I will stay until after the funeral; 
then I will take the poor girl home with me!’* 

Marjory, two big glistening tears in her 
beautiful blue eyes, kissed her friend and 
teacher: “I am so sorry, Mary,” was all she 
could say. ‘‘Be sure to phone me if you 
need me, Mother dear.” 

Marvina remained in the living room. As 
she began to tidy up things, she could hear 
Mary softly sobbing, as she spoke in low 
tones to the doctor 

‘‘How strange is the world, Dick. When 
1 left the house only a few hours ago, father 
was out, digging around the flowers and 
raking the leaves. He smiled goodbye as 
I went out. How little 1 knew, that it would 
be the last time 1 should see that dear old 
smiling face,” she said through a fresh 
shower of tears. 

‘‘There, there, Mary, please don’t take on 
so; you will make yourself ill, and I shall 
have another patient on my hands. Now 
you must brace up and be the strong, self 


304 


HOMING 


reliant girl I have always known you to be. 
Now, shall I take the responsibility of ar¬ 
rangements off your hands? I will gladly 
do so.” 

Mary accepted his kind offer with much 
gratitude. 

‘‘Thank you so much, Dick. I would not 
know what to do, and besides, I don’t seem 
to be able to think clearly; this has come so 
suddenly.” 

He led her back downstairs. For the first 
time Mary remembered that Mrs. Mansfield 
and Dick had not been introduced; after the 
introduction the doctor explained that he 
would take charge of the obsequies, so as to 
relieve Miss Langford of the responsibility, 
and that he would hurry downtown and at¬ 
tend to the preliminaries at once. 

IV 

The two women left alone, Mary, without 
reserve, poured out all that was in her heart. 

‘‘You are wonderfully kind, Mrs. Mans¬ 
field; I am sorry 1 am so weak, but the blow 
was much stronger than I was prepared for, 
and I feel so terribly alone. I have no other 
relatives at all, and my father was so good; 


HOMING 


305 


the best man that ever lived; always so kind- 
hearted, so gentle and sympathetic.” 

“And how about Dr. Wayne? He seems 
to be also gentle and sympathetic; he looked 
at you with his whole soul in his eyes, ex¬ 
pressing a world of love and sympathy.” 

“Yes, 1 know; he has always been like 
sunshine breaking through the clouds in my 
life, and yet, I have only been able to love 
him as a dear brother and comrade!” 

“Now, you are not going to talk any more, 
I am going to ask Julia to bring you a nice 
cup of tea and you are going to rest. The 
next two days are going to be very trying 
ones, and you will need all of your strength.” 

“After that I am going to take you home 
with me. We love the same things, have 
much in common, and are sure to be con¬ 
genial, and Marjory will be leaving us in 
June for a home of her own, so then I shall 
need consoling company.” 

Mary’s heart was too full to answer, but 
there was a world of love and gratitude in 
her tear-filled eyes. 


Chapter 1 3 

I 

The fourth of June was a glorious day. 
Nature had been busy for weeks. Marvina 
had watched its handiwork. The fields and 
road-sides had melted into seas and lanes of 
living beauty, which had developed with 
each day a manifest of eternal love and 
awakened life. 

After breakfast Marvina put her arm 
about Marjory’s waist and said: “Come, 
dear, let us walk in the garden. The Los 
Angeles rose-tree has given birth to three 
beauties and you must see them.’’ 

Marjory smiled up at her Mother: “Yes, 
I saw them last evening. Doug and I were 
down there, but they were only half blown; 
I suppose they are full blown by this time. 
The color of them is the most beautiful I 
have ever seen.’’ 

Mother and daughter went forth, arm in 
arm, into the garden where flowers and gor¬ 
geous foliage of trees, vines and shrubs 


HOMING 


307 


created a divine splendor of lavish luxury, 
which seemed a marvelous miracle. 

What is more beautiful than a day in 
June? 

The rose bushes were heavy with fra¬ 
grance, and the blue rippling lake danced for 
joy in the sunshine. Mr. Wren was perch 
ing in a nearby tree singing a song of love to 
Jenny Wren, as she covered the three young 
hopefuls in the little Wren house among the 
tangled vines of wisteria. 

Marvina had much to say to Marjory on 
this perfect June day, though it was very 
difficult to begin. There are times when the 
heart is so full of gladness and sadness that 
the lips refuse to voice its emotion. 

“There is an ideal example of domestic 
bliss,” said Marvina, as she pointed to Mr. 
Wren saucily singing straight at them, and 
Jenny Wren peeping inquiringly out of her 
house. 

“Isn’t it darling? He does sing a glad 
song of joy and pride, doesn’t he?” said 
Marjory. “Come out on the peninsula 
Mother; Mrs. Robin has built her nest inside 
the rustic summer house, and has three of 
the darlingest babies.” 

Out in the summer house Marjory 


308 


HOMING 


climbed up on the seat that stretched along 
the side, and pointed out the nest to her 
mother. Instantly three little heads were 
lifted on slender necks and three enormous 
mouths opened wide. From a distant bough 
Mother and Father Robin scolded 

“Ah, they are hungry, Mother,” said 
Marjory, “I wish I knew what to give them.” 

“Their mother understands their diet 
better than we do,” answered Marvina, “and 
we are distressing her, let’s go away and 
leave her in her maternal happiness.” 

II 

“June is truly a wonderful month, isn’t 
it, Mother?” There was a little thrill of 
gladness in Marjory’s voice as she spoke. 

“It is,” replied Marvina, “and my little 
girl is going to be married tomorrow. ’Tis 
the month of love and beauty and marriage; 
and it is not as fashion decrees it—this cus¬ 
tom of bridal wreaths in June—but as God 
intended. It is the higher law of universal 
sex instinct which rules the world, including 
men and women, birds and beasts. All na¬ 
ture awakes at the call of June.” 

“The birds know—all life in June 



HOMING 


309 


quickens and throbs with desire as God in¬ 
tended, in plants as in animals—the blossom 
is the instinct, and of love is born the color 
and fragrance.” 

They had reached the terrace steps and 
Marvina plucked one of the beautiful roses 
and gave it to Marjory. 

“It is like yourself, my dear, full of won¬ 
drous beauty and infinite charm.” 

“You are a perfect darling, mother, to say 
such pretty things, and truly I don’t know 
what I shall do without you,” and she 
cuddled up close to Marvina’s side as she 
seated herself on the garden bench. 

‘‘It is easy enough to say pretty things, 
my dear; it is the cold practical things that 
are difficult to say, and no matter how diffi¬ 
cult they are, I am going to say them to you 
mixed with the beautiful things, because I 
feel that they will help my little girl along 
Life’s way, which can’t and won’t be all rose 
strewn.” 

‘‘It seems only yesterday that you were 
my bonnie blue-eyed baby. Do you re¬ 
member, after you had the measles which 
left you with that nasty earache? How 
Mother sat up all night holding a hot water 
bottle to your eaj, so that your slumbers in 


310 


HOMING 


her arms would not be disturbed by pain?” 

“And now you are going out into the 
world to obey that law, which everywhere 
God’s creatures are obeying—that nature 
law—without which this beautiful earth so 
full of happiness and pregnant with promise, 
would be a barren waste. It would be a 
good idea to take a lesson in domesticity 
from Mrs. Robin and Mrs. Wren.” 

“When you place your hand in his and 
set out together across the smiling fields 
which beckon you with tomorrow’s sun, 
know that you have accepted a splendid re¬ 
sponsibility and keep duty well in sight. You 
love him and want to make him happy— 
and I will tell you how.” 

“With your loyal love, the problem is 
more than half solved, but don’t begin by 
thinking wrongly, as so many do and have 
done. Love, my dear, is absolutely essen¬ 
tial; it is the only sure anchor of married 
life; the only safeguard against rough 
weather which is sure to come mingled with 
the sunshine, but love must be backed with 
a great many other qualities, including fore- 
bearance and intuitive discretion; else its 
effort and self-sacrifice will be labor lost.” 

Love is an excellent and necessary 


HOMING 


31 1 

foundation on which to build your matri¬ 
monial happiness, but to live a successful 
and harmonious married life, man and wife 
must have more than love,—try a little horse 
sense, you will find it works wonders.*’ 

“Now, you believe him to be a demi-god 
and I don’t want to spoil your girlish dream; 
I am sure he will swear that you are an 
angel, and he is of course likewise mistaken, 
but out of your dreams will—I hope—come 
a wonderful reality. So tuck away in a 
pigeon hole of your memory for future use 
Mother’s practical advice, dear.*’ 

“These dream visions always fade away 
ere the honeymoon is over, and when your 
will-o’-the-wisp ideals have fled be prepared 
to face life as it really is and be glad that 
you have had your dream-ideals; life would 
be empty without them. And when you 
find that your demi-god is mere mortal man, 
be glad that he is noble and true, as I am 
sure he will be.’* 

“Remember, that God has wisely planned 
and that it is well to expect perfection though 
it be impossible. Remember, that to be an 
ideal wife is a most difficult task. The ideal 
wife must be a personality as complex as the 
mind of man; she must see that the Golden 



312 


HOMING 


Rule is practised and mutually applied. Es¬ 
tablish the law of give and take, and make 
the flowers bloom all along the way.** 

“Remember, that the daily grind must 
have its recompense: give him an occasional 
evening out if he cares about it, and don’t 
spoil your consent with a reluctant scowl and 
take all the pleasure out of it. Pettiness and 
nagging are two of the greatest matrimonial 
crimes; if you are annoyed say so, but don’t 
sing it. Never admit even to yourself that 
there could be any other woman; you have 
his heart, keep it.’’ 

“Remember, that careless indifference and 
sexual matter-of-course is the road to the 
divorce court, and if you forget to be his 
sweetheart as well as his wife you may have 
much to forgive. We must all obey the law 
of existence which is born of love—the 
mother of desire. Love without desire is 
mere shrieking sham and shameless hypoc¬ 
risy. Don’t try to understand this mysterious 
force, this creative power that is supreme 
and rules the Universe, and which we know 
as ‘Love;’ tis a gift from God, accept it with 
a glad heart.** 



HOMING 


313 


III 

/ ... 

“Don’t forget whom your husband mar¬ 
ried, dear; a neat, cleanly, well-groomed 
girl; gracious, soft—voiced and smiling; to be 
grouchy, slovenly and untidy are grievous 
sins. Don’t lose your figure; remember 
that indifference to appearance is deadly. 
This does not mean that you must retain an 
absurd figure through starvation! If you 
find yourself growing plump eliminate fat¬ 
tening foods, and don’t wait until you are 
fat before you take these precautions.’’ 

“Make yourself as attractive as you can, 
but try to always understand what attrac¬ 
tiveness is, and never be influenced in 
becoming one of those restless, half-starved, 
plucked eye-browed, rouged, whitened and 
jazz-crazed creatures, who insult the sacred 
barge of Motherhood and desecrate the 
home.*^ 

“You will promise to obey, but every 
man is a big baby at heart, and with a rea¬ 
sonable amount of patience and tact you will 
be able to establish a fifty-fifty comrade¬ 
ship without wearing the pants or tying him 
to your apron strings. Churches are good, 


314 


HOMING 


and clubs are all right if not overdone, but 
remember, that your first obligation is your 
home, your husband and children.” 

‘‘Don’t ever believe in that method of 
winning his heart through his stomach; that 
may appeal when applied to a hog, but I 
prefer to believe in Omar’s theory of, ‘A 
jug of wine, a loaf of bread and Thou.’ Of 
course, he may like a steak and a few pota¬ 
toes, and this may be garnished with kisses, 
but don’t try to love him to death.” 

‘‘My dear, don’t listen to all that bosh 
about birth control. If the mothers of 
Abraham Lincoln, Mary Baker Eddy and 
other great men and women, had believed in 
birth control, the world would have been 
robbed of its greatest treasures. 

‘‘Remember, that on woman is bestowed 
the greatest of all honors, that of Mothering 
the world. Birth control may be all right 
under certain conditions, but its place is cer¬ 
tainly not in the decent homes of healthy 
men and women.” 

‘‘Make motherhood a joy for both your¬ 
self and your children. Teach them that 
Home is the most wonderful place, that 
Father is the finest man in the world and a 
loyal friend, to be loved and respected, and 


HOMING 


315 


that Mother is a precious possession to be 
cherished and cared for, that she may get 
much happiness from the home to which 
she gives her all!” 

“So, my little girl, that’s quite a lecture, 
and I have not been given much to lecturing. 
However, I feel better now, because I feel 
that, if you remember, you will understand 
how to cope with each problem as it pre¬ 
sents itself; your common sense and ex¬ 
perience as it comes to you will do the rest.” 

“And now, dear, let’s smile again; no 
more seriousness for today; it’s the time of 
brides and roses, of love and laughter.” 

IV 

Marjory had been very quiet and thought¬ 
ful while listening silently to her mother. 

“If I can make a home as pleasant as you 
have made this dear old spot, I shall become 
a truly good wife and Mother. I do not now 
understand quite all you have said, though I 
dare say understanding can only come with 
experience. I thank you, mother dear, and 
I shall long remember this hour here among 
the roses with you, and all that you have 
said.” 

Marvina rose and spoke: “Now we must 
go in and arrange all the lacy finery, and 


316 


HOMING 


finish packing the trunks that are to be sent 
to the station. You must retire early and 
rest. We don’t want to see a tired, pale 
little bride, but a radiant, fresh fairy of love¬ 
liness.” 

There was just a suspicion of tears in 
Marvina’s voice; she leaned forward and 
kissed Marjory, and then they started back 
through the beautiful garden. 

At the top of the terrace they saw a little 
brown roadster turn into the driveway, and 
Marjory’s face lit up. She blushed prettily 
and her eyes sparkled as she turned to her 
mother and cried, ‘‘There’s Doug,” and was 
off like the wind. 

“Beauty calling Youth from Love’s moun¬ 
tain top,” thought Marvina, as she was left 
alone. She turned slowly toward her rc 
garden to walk in thoughtful solitude among 
its riot of color and sweet perfume 


Chapter 14 

I 


Since the day they laid Henry Langford 
to rest in the family plot on the hillside at 
Valley View, Mary had been staying at 
“Awari.” She had been a real treasure in 
helping with Marjory’s trousseau, and as¬ 
sisting with all the arrangements for the 
wedding. 

These interests had helped her forget her 
bereavement a little, though there was a pa¬ 
thetic droop to her mouth, and her big haz*J 
eyes had lost the smile that had always 
lurked there; they were sad and dreamy. 
She looked very slender and pale in her black 
dress, which made her appear more ethereal 
and saint-like than before. 

Her soft silvery hair seemed to form a 
halo for her beautiful pensive face, and 
about her whole being there hovered a 
glamor of romance and mystery. 

'‘Mary is adorably beautiful, don't you 
think so?” cried Marvina to Marjory. Mar- 


318 


HOMING 


jory followed her mother’s gaze and saw 
Mary coming slowly across the garden with 
a basket of spring flowers on her arm. 

“I have thought her beautiful ever since 
the first moment I saw her,” replied Mar¬ 
jory, ‘‘but somehow she is more charming 
now then ever before; perhaps the black is 
more becoming than the colors we are ac¬ 
customed to see her wear. I think it is very 
strange that she has never married.” 

‘‘It is a great pity she has never married,” 
answered Marvina: ‘‘She is just the sort of 
woman who would make a wonderful wife 
and mother, and a home with all the beauty 
and charm which a home should have; still, 
it is not too late, she may marry yet.” 

‘‘Do you think so mother?” Marjory’s 
eyes sparkled, “do you think she will marry 
Dr. Dick? He is crazy about her, and he is 
so nice. I wish she would marry him.” 

“It may be that Mary is one of those 
unfortunate creatures who can love only 
once, and it isn’t Dr. Dick. Mary is a most 
unusual woman, born with a beautiful soul; 
the heart-break of life which harden some 
has softened her and made even more beau¬ 
tiful her soul. That is what we see in her 
lovely face; not just the beauty of her fea- 


HOMING 


319 


tures, her lovely hair and pretty teeth, but 
the ethereal grace and daintiness; the 
intangible yet ever-compelling charm, re¬ 
flected by a beautiful soul.” 

‘‘Since she has been with us, I have studied 
her characteristics and find her more inter¬ 
esting every day. She is responsive in 
intelligent and instinctive sympathy,” 

‘‘She has an interpretive and suggestive 
mentality, attuned to a sense of telepathy; 
the fineness of thought and delicacy of feel¬ 
ing which accompanies a gentle passion 
that must appeal. It is these things, after 
all, that go to make up the really beautiful 
woman; not the jointed talking dolls with 
just pretty faces.” 


II 

A week had passed since this conversa¬ 
tion had taken place between Marjory and 
her mother. 

Now that the excitement of the wedding 
was over, and things were settling down to 
the normal again,never had Marvina appre¬ 
ciated a friend as she did Mary at this time. 

Her quick sympathy and understanding 
when she would find the mother in her 


320 


HOMING 


daughter’s empty room . . . Once 

she found her fondling a tiny baby shoe as 
she smiled through tears at a picture of Mar¬ 
jorie at two years of age. 

“Now, if you have the other one,” said 
Mary, touching the tiny shoe lightly, “you 
might keep them for your grandson.” 

Marvina looked into those big sad eyes, 
into which there had come first a teasing 
little twinkle, followed by a deeply tender 
sympathy. 

“I don’t care how soon I become a grand¬ 
mother,’’ replied Marvina, smiling and 
drying the tears which still glistened in her 
pretty eyes. 

“I love children, and I wish I had a large 
family. I—I’m afraid, I shall miss them 
terribly, Mary dear: I’m so glad to have you 
with me; you are always so cheering.” 

“Now, you should not have one single sad 
moment,” said Mary; “they will be back 
home for the fourth of July, and that’s only 
a few weeks off. Come up to the music 
room and I will sing to you some glad sweet 
song that will chase away all the shadows.” 

She did . . She was that kind, 

always chasing the shadows and spreading 


HOMING 


321 


sunshine: making the flowers bloom all 
along Life’s way. 


Chapter 15 

I 

The fourth of July had always been a day 
of joyous celebration at “Awari” and this 
was to be a more glorious day—more joyful 
than all the others. 

Marjory and Douglas were coming home 
from their wedding trip; Junior was to be in 
all the games at the Country Club—swim¬ 
ming, tennis and rowing. The ball game in 
the morning and a golf tournament in the 
afternoon were claiming much enthusiasm 
from Bruce. 

The Blakes were to motor out early in the 
morning and bring the children. Virginia 
to spend a month at “Awari,” and Velora 
was to continue her trip by motor to Cape 
May on July fifth, taking her baby and 
nurse, to spend the month at the seaside. 

Stuart Blake had been away for six 
months visiting the big cities both in the 
United States and Canada, establishing offi¬ 
ces in Philadelphia, Baltimore, Pittsburg, 


HOMING 


323 


Chicago and San Francisco. He was to ar¬ 
rive in New York on July third and motor 
out with his family to join the gay celebra¬ 
tion at “Awari.” 

For several days Marvina and Mary 
rushed about planning and arranging the 
rooms, and making the home attractive and 
comfortable to receive the guests. 

Then came the dawn of the birthday of 
America’s independence. Marvina was 
restless and excited; she could hardly tell 
why. Four o’clock in the morning found 
her wide awake, thinking over the coming 
events of the day. 

The first thought which came to her 
awakened mind was that Marjory would be 
home that day; that was followed by the 
thought, “and she is a wife, she, who only 
yesterday was my baby girl; and I suppose 
Junior will be going next. I wonder what 
she will be like, the new daughter our son 
will bring to us.’’ . . . Then, the 
lovely brown eyes and serious face of Vir- 
gina Blake rose before her. 

As she lay there, thinking quietly, the 
note of a bird from its bed of leafy boughs 
down in the forest came floating through the 
open windows. In a few moments, an- 


324 


HOMING 


other feathered songster joined in, making a 
duet: then another and another, until the 
feathered symphony of the forest was com¬ 
plete, greeting the dawn with all its glad 
music. 

The dainty white curtains fluttered softly 
in the breeze, as the rosy dawn came peep¬ 
ing through the window in all its glowing 
beauty, fresh from its Maker. 

Marvina rose and threw on her dressing 
gown, slipped her feet into her comfies, 
threw open the French windows and stepped 
out on the balcony to greet the glad day. 

From the flag-pole in the garden, majesti¬ 
cally waving in the morning breeze, was Old 
Glory. With the rising sun shining full on 
its beautiful stars and stripes the sight of this 
old flag never failed to give her a thrill of 
pride, and this morning it looked more beau¬ 
tiful than ever as it proudly moved in the 
sunlight. 

Marvina was a woman who got much 
more happiness than most people out of the 
things she loved; her home, her worship of 
God, her patriotism, her joy of living and 
passion for beauty in all things. 

“ ’Tis truly the month of sunshine,” she 
thought, as she leaned on the balcony rail 


HOMING 


325 


and gazed on all the early morning loveli¬ 
ness. “Surely, this is the time to drink in 
the first glad joys of the beauty-filled day.” 

From the first bird song greeting the 
rosy dawn until the world was a flame of 
light she gazed about. From every neigh¬ 
boring housetop, from windows and flag 
poles fluttered flags, pennants and ribbons. 
Around the lake were stretched rows of gay 
lanterns for the Lantern Fete that night. A 
huge float occupied the center of the lake; 
from this the fireworks would be set off. 

Suddenly—“Good morning, Juliet,” 
came from the direction of the lake, “aren’t 
you up rather early?” 

Marvina’s eyes followed the sound of a 
boyish laugh, and saw Junior jump from his 
canoe, pull it up on the shore and come to¬ 
ward the house. 

“What’s the matter, mother?” he in¬ 
quired, as he came up near the balcony, 
are you ill?” Can I get you anything?” 

“No, thank you, dear; I am quite all right, 
only I couldn’t sleep any longer, for some 
reason or other; but what are you doing up 
so early?” 

“Same trouble,” laughed Junior, “so I 
thought I would take a workout around the 


326 


HOMING 


lake, and be in better shape for the canoe 
races. Now I am on my way to raid the 
ice-box.” 

Marvina gazed with much pride and joy 
on this modern Hercules in his bathing suit, 
his broad shoulders rising above a muscular 
chest. The college athlete stood straight 
and strong, like some sturdy forest oak. 
Twenty-one and a tall, powerful, gentle¬ 
manly fellow. His outlook on Life’s wind¬ 
ing way was gloriously promising. 

‘‘What could be more wonderful?** 
thought Marvina, ‘‘than to be twenty-one, 
strong and healthy, facing Life with the 
philosphy of sunshine in one’s soul?” 

She returned to her room and began to 
dress. Soon she could hear the hum of life 
about the house, as the servants were busy 
with the morning’s work. 

II 

At seven-thirty the family met on the 
breakfast porch. 

‘‘I thought it best to get breakfast over 
early,” said Marvina, ‘‘because the guests 
will be arriving early, as the sports start at 
the club house about nine-thirty.” 


HOMING 


327 


Everybody seemed to be up and hun¬ 
gry anyway/* said Bruce. "By the way 
dear, I forgot to tell you that we had a tele¬ 
gram from Blake saying that he had missed 
connections at Chicago, which would make 
him a day late; he was to have arrived yes¬ 
terday." 

"That’s too bad," answered Marvina, 
"don’t you think he will get into New York 
in time to come out today?" 

"I think perhaps he will, but it may be 
quite late." 

"If he gets into New York on time he can 
take the Hudson tube to Newark, and I can 
take the sportster to fetch him," suggested 
Junior. 

"That would be about the only way for 
him to get here with any comfort," replied 
his father; "the train crush is terrible on 
one of these summer holidays." 

"Come Mary, we will gather the red and 
white carnations and blue corn-flowers, to 
fashion the flag in the center of the dining 
room table," said Marvina, as they finished 
breakfast. 

«r 

Just then the telephone rang, and Martin 
came to deliver the message he received 
over the phone. 


328 


HOMING 


“A message from Mrs. Blake, madam, 
saying Mr. Blake has not returned as yet, so 
she is starting at once without him, and 
should arrive with the children about nine- 
thirty.** 

“Thank you, Martin,*’ and turning to 
Bruce she said; “Mrs. Blake evidently 
means to make good time; its eight-thirty 
now and she has to get through New York 
and over the ferry, and you know what the 
traffic is like on days like this.*’ 

“Blake tells me his chaffeur is rather a 
reckless driver,” replied Bruce, “he has been 
arrested several times for speeding; I am 
surprised thathe has not discharged him long 
ago.” 

Marvina and Mary departed, to gather 
the flowers, and Bruce and Junior seated 
themselves again at the table, lit their cigar¬ 
ettes and began to discuss the day’s races. 

In the meantime, Velora, in her high- 
powered touring car, was speeding along. 
She sat in the front seat, with her two chil¬ 
dren in the back seat, watching with tense, 
strained nerves as they shot in and out 
among the procession of holiday tourists. 

“Let’s walk over to the club and see 
what’s doing, Dad,” suggested Junior, “or 


HOMING 


329 


better still, let’s get into the canoe and 
paddle over, its going to be as hot as Hades 
presently; and the sun is blazing like a fiery 
furnace.” 

As Marvina and Mary were returning 
with their red, white and blue flowers from 
the garden, Bruce and Junior waved a good¬ 
bye from the canoe on the lake. 

Just as Mary and Marvina were finishing 
the flower flag, which covered the entire 
center of the banquet table, the telephone 
rang. 

“It’s the Memorial hospital, madam; they 
wish to speak to Mrs. Mansfield, if possi¬ 
ble.” 



Marvina took the receiver hurriedly from 
Martin. 

“Hello! yes, this is Mrs. Mansfield. 
Yes, we are friends of Mrs. Stuart Blake.” 

The next moment a smothered 
scream escaped from Marvina s lips, and 
Mary, seeing her turn pale, sprang to her 
side, and with one hand steadied her as she 
sank into a nearby chair, while she grasped 
the receiver with the other. 


330 


HOMING 


“Yes, hello; will you repeat the message, 
please?” said Mary in a trembling voice. 

“There has been an automobile acci¬ 
dent,” said the voice at the other end of the 
wire; “Mrs. Stuart Blake, who was on her 
way to visit you, was killed instantly. Her 
two children are here—they were thrown 
clear of the car.” 

“The younger seemed to be uninjured, 
while the older one, Miss Virginia Blake, 
has a broken arm and lacerations of the 
body, but she was conscious when brought 
here, and asked us to telephone you at once, 
as her father was traveling and could not be 
reached.” 

“Thank you very much,” said Mary, in a 
voice between a whisper and a sob, "we will 
be right over as quickly as possible,” and 
she hung up the receiver and turned to find 
Marvina in a dead faint. 

Mary rang for Martin, who helped her 
make Marvina comfortable on the couch; 
then she sent Martin for the maid and gave 
instructions to send the car to the club 
house at once for Mr. Mansfield and Junior, 
while she bathed Marvina’s face with cold 
water, rubbed her hands, and did her best to 
bring her friend back to consciousness. 



HOMING 


331 


Presently Marvina opened her eyes and 
looked up. Ah, it is too terrible,” she 
cried as she slowly recalled the horror of the 
telephone message, “what can we do?” 

* We will get ready as quickly as possi¬ 
ble and go over to the hospital. The poor 
children must be miserable there, among 
total strangers, under such tragic circum¬ 
stances.” 

Bruce and Junior came in shortly and 
Marvina explained about the accident: 

“Isn’t it horrible? and this was to be such 
a happy joyful day. Strange, how things 
can change in a moment from the heights 
of joy to black despair.” 

“There, my dear, be glad it was no 
worse,” said Bruce. “Thank God, for Blake’s 
sake, that the children were saved. Now, 
Junior will take you and Miss Langford over 
to the hospital, and in the meantime I will 
do my best to get in touch with Blake; he 
will be sure to go straight home from the 
train. You will be nearer the tube over 
there, so when I get him I will phone Junior 
at the hospital, and he can meet Blake at the 
tube station.” 

“Also I will be here to receive Marjory 


332 


HOMING 


and Doug, and break the news to them when 
they arrive.” 

With a warning to Junior to take his time 
and be careful, Bruce tucked the two wo¬ 
men in the back seat of the car and watched 
them depart. 

A cloud of depression seemed to settle 
over the chaerful happy household. Bruce 
tried several times to get Blake on the 
phone, but each time the answer came back, 
“Not home yet, sir.” 


IV 

Stuart arrived at the Grand Central Sta¬ 
tion to find the city blistering in the heat. 
He felt dirty and tired as he mingled with 
the throng in the stuffy station. Red-faced 
from the heat, with great beads of perspira¬ 
tion standing on his forehead, he jumped 
into a taxi and gave the address through the 
opened window. 

As the car pulled up in front of his hotel, 
he sprang out, paid the driver, gave his bag 
to a waiting porter, and hurried up to his 
apartment. 

The porter put the bag on a table, and 


HOMING 


333 


asked if there was anything more he could 
do. 

“Yes, get out,” said Blake peevishly; 
then he smiled and flung a tip into the black 
boy’s hand, saying: “Tell them not to dis¬ 
turb me during the next half hour. I am 
not in to any one, and 1 won’t answer the 
phone. I want to take a bath and shave 
undisturbed.” 

On the table was a note from Velora, 
telling him that she had waited until eight 
thirty, and then had gone over to the Mans¬ 
fields, and asking him to phone as soon as he 
arrived. 

“Well, 1 can just as well wait and phone 
after I rid myself of some of the train dirt,” 
he thought, as he turned the water on and 
got out his shaving things. 

Suddenly, there was a buzzing, grinding 
sound in a corner of the living-room. The 
shades had been left drawn, and the room 
was rather shadowy. 

Blake stopped to listen; he left the bath¬ 
room and went into the living-room to 
investigate. Suddenly, a clear masculine 
voice spoke: 

“We are broadcasting the daily news 
headlines from station W. A. G.” 


334 


HOMING 


“They forgot to turn the radio off,** he 
muttered to himself. “It’s a damn spooky 
thing to have somebody suddenly start 
talking in a darkened room. Well, I might 
just as well be entertained while I clean up.** 
He went back to the bathroom, turned 
the water off and left the door open, so that 
he could hear plainly and began to shave. 

“To-night at nine-thirty Captain James 
Williams, the famous aviator, will write the 
words ‘Independence and Liberty’ on the 
sky above New York City. The letters will 
be flaming red and each letter will be more 
than a mile long. So be sure to look up at 
nine-thirty and see ‘Independence and Lib¬ 
erty’ written in letters of flame on the sky. 
We are broadcasting from station W. A. G.** 
“How thrilling,” thought Stuart: “Won¬ 
der if we will be able to see them from 
‘Oakdale’ ?” 

“Wonder if there is anything to drink?” 
He finished shaving and went to explore a 
sort of kitchenette which they had installed 
in a large closet of the living room. He took 
a bottle of gin from the cellarette, some ice 
from a miniature ice box, and proceeded to 
mix a gin ricky while the radio voice contin¬ 
ued announcing. 


HOMING 


335 


From the beginning of the Dempsey 
Gibbons world championship boxing match 
we will broadcast every movement of the 
fight as it goes on, and the results at the end 
of each round.” 

“Seven hundred fifty piece band to head 
the Fifth Avenue parade. Prepare to stuff 
your ears with cotton.” 

“ ‘All women to have vote and freedom 
too* is message of Mrs. Carrie Chapman 
Catt, suffrage leader, welcomed home from 
abroad. She plans to help men now. 
‘Look at the mess they have made of poli¬ 
tics,’ says the sprightly veteran.” 

“Auto accident; child hurled to death in 
crash near Hammonton, N. J. Nicholas 
Landon, three years old, is dead and three 
others are in hospital at Atlantic City, as 
result of a collision of two automobiles.” 

“One woman and chauffeur dead and her 
two children injured in auto crash at Cald¬ 
well, N. J.—Mrs. Stuart Blake of New York 
City, was instantly killed when her car shot 
down the Caldwell hill and crashed into a 
tree at the turning of the road at the foot of 
the hill ” 

Stuart was emptying his glass, as the 
radio announced: “Mrs. Stuart Blake, of 


336 


HOMING 


New York City, was instantly killed’’—the 
glass fell from his hands and crashed to the 
floor. His brain reeled, and things seemed 
to grow black before him, as the voice from 
the silent, darkened room continued. 

“My God,” he muttered, as he stood 
rooted to the spot staring into space. 

Then he rushed to the radio and switched 
it off—as though he would stop the horrible 
news. Then, seizing the telephone, he 
called frantically for Mansfield’s number. 

Bruce, just trying for the fifth time to get 
Blake, was startled by the sudden insistent 
ringing of the telephone, just as he was 
about to pick up the receiver. 

“Hello,—hello,’’ he answered. 

“Oh Mansfield,’’ came the breathless ex¬ 
cited voice of Stuart, “I have just got the 
terrible news over the radio. Tell me, the 
—the children—will they live?” 

“Yes,’’ replied Bruce, “Violet, through 
some miracle, has escaped injury, except a 
little shaking up and scare; Virginia has a 
broken arm and is scratched up a bit, but 
not in danger.’’ 

‘Thank God,’* came the voice earnestly, 
“Tell me where they are, and how can I 
reach them quickly?’’ 


HOMING 


337 


Bruce explained, “take the tube to New¬ 
ark, Junior will be there waiting at the tube 
station to fetch you. I am sorry, old man, 
awfully sorry.’* 


Chapter 16 

I 

October had arrived once more with its 
blazing oaks, its flaming maples and gor¬ 
geous autumn flowers. 

It was a glorious autumn Sunday; the sun 
shone brightly on the earth’s serene loveli¬ 
ness: the wind sighed softly a benediction 
on the dead summer. 

In the breakfast room of “Awari,” Bruce 
Mansfield, Marvina, Stuart Blake and Mary 
Langford were seated at breakfast. Vir¬ 
ginia was at college, Junior had returned to 
college, radiant because this was to be his 
finishing year. Little Violet, whom Mary 
had taken care of ever since she brought her 
home in her arms from the hospital, always 
had her meals in her nursery. 

It had been Stuart’s custom, since that 
fatal tragedy on the fourth of July, to come 
out every Saturday and spend the week-end 
at “Awari,” where Marvina had insisted 
upon keeping the children for the present. 


HOMING 


339 


“It’s a wonderful day for a picnic,” sug¬ 
gested Stuart, ‘‘let’s take our fishing rods 
and some luncheon and go up in the woods 
near Broad Acres.” 

‘‘Violet has a little cold,” said Mary, ‘‘and 
I am afraid to take her out in the woods; it 
may be a bit damp and she is not quite har¬ 
dened to the country yet; so I am afraid I 

» *t 

can t go. 

‘‘We have some neighbors coming in for 
luncheon, I am sorry, Stuart; however Flor¬ 
ence, the upstairs girl, is not going off to¬ 
day and she will take care of Violet, so you 
and Stuart can go along, Mary.” 

Mary blushed scarlet as Stuart said has¬ 
tily; ‘‘That will be fine, get your bonnet and 
come along, Mary.” 

Half an hour later, Marvina called Bruce 
and smiled knowingly, pointed down the 
road. Stuart was carrying the rods and 
tackle, while Mary hugged a neat little lunch 
box in one arm and her own and Stuart’s 
sweater in the other. 

‘‘You managed that very well, you little 
schemer,” laughed Bruce: ‘‘I hope he gets 
her; she will make a different man out of 
him.” 

Stuart and Mary walked through the sun- 


340 


HOMING 


lit fields, past her own old home, which she 
had rented furnished, through the old gate 
of “Broad Acres,’’ down deep into the au¬ 
tumn woods under the majestic trees, drap¬ 
ing their curtains of crimson and gold about 

them. 

“We will go up past the old house,” said 
Stuart, “and I know where there used to be 
a fine place to fish, just about a quarter of 
a mile up the lake around a bend in the 
shore. I hope I’m not tiring you, Mary?” 

“Oh, no, I love to hike,” said Mary, “you 
remember, how we used to enjoy them, all 
of us kids. You remember all the flower¬ 
gathering parties in the spring? The pic¬ 
nics up at Silver Leaf Lake? And of 
course, we had the big wagon and a team 
for the berrying parties to the cranberry 
bogs, and the moonlight straw rides: but 

then, we always hiked on the nut-gathering 
parties. Ah, Stuart, home was really 
‘Home Sweet Home’ in those days; there 
was very little of that restless dissatisfac¬ 
tion of to-day. The Mansfield house is the 
nearest approach to the old-fashioned home 
I know of.” 

Just then they reached the broad veranda 
steps of Stuart’s old homestead. Uncle Bill 


HOMING 


341 


and Aunt Harriet, seeing their approach, 
came rushing out to meet them. 

“Good morning, Mister Stuart; good 
morning, Miss Mary. Glory be ter God 
sah, 1 sho’ is glad yo done bought back de 
ol’ homestead.” 

Yessah, we sho is,” joined in Aunt Har¬ 
riet, “When yo all gwine ter move in? We 
jes heerd bout yo’ buying it las’ night.” 

Stuart looked at Mary’s astonished face 
and answered, “I don’t know, folks, but I 
hope to in the spring.” 

He smiled at Mary as he answered; the 
pain had mysteriously vanished from his 
smile. 

“Won’t yo’ all come in to inspec’ yo’r 
property, sah? Dey tells me yo done 
bought de funnijur and eberting.” 

“Yes, Uncle Bill, but I have not come to 
inspect my house to-day, thank you, we 
won’t go in; Miss Langford and I are going 
to see if they have left any fish in the old 
lake. By the way, I wish you and Aunt 
Harriet would go right on and take care of 
things; I will send you a check each month.” 

“Yessah, we will sho’ be glad to, sah, its 
jes lak home ter us now, we do de bes’ we 
kin fo’ yo sah.” 


342 


HOMING 


“Alright, Uncle Bill. I will be dropping 
in to see you from time to time; probably 
see you on our way home.’* 

II 

“How wonderful of you to have the old 
homestead back. I think you were mean 
to keep such good news to yourself, Stuart.*’ 

“To tell you the truth, I did not know 
just how to break the news, and I don’t think 
I realize as yet that it is really mine.’’ 

They were passing the old springhouse. 

“Would you like a cool drink from the 
spring, Mary?’’ 

“Yes,’’ replied Mary. 

“The water from this spring was always 
colder and purer than any other,’* Stuart 
said, as he handed the glass of water to 
Mary. 

They were again confronted with the en¬ 
twined letters he had cut on the beech tree 
so many years ago. He caught her hand as 
she reached for the glass. 

Mary, he said, with a stammering 
voice, low and tense with emotion, “Mary, 
I love you.** 

She looked into his eyes for an instant 


HOMING 


343 


as though searching his soul; tears sprang 
to her eyes. Trembling from head to foot, 
with a glad cry she sprang into his arms. 

Stuart, forgetting all about the glass of 
water he held, clasped her in his out¬ 
stretched arms and crushed her to his heart, 
spilling the glass of water down her back as 
he did so. 

“You do love me, Stuart?” she passion¬ 
ately cried, “you are mine at last?” 

“Love you? With all my heart! 1 
must have always loved you! It can be 
only a great mutual soul love that has 
brought us together, dear, after all these 
years.” 

She lifted her head and smiled through 
her tears. “You know, it must be a pitiable 
sight to see a strong serious man and a wo¬ 
man of my age stammering and doing silly 
things. If you have a handkerchief, you 
may try to dry my back.” 

Stuart, realizing that he still had the half 
empty glass in his hand, laughed a happy 
carefree laugh for the first time in years. 

“I am sorry,” he apologized, as he took 
out his handkerchief and dried the back of 
her blouse as best he could, and helped her 
slip on her sweater. 


344 


HOMING 


“What do you mean ‘Our Age’? I as¬ 
sure you, I never felt so young in my life, 
and you, my angel sent from Heaven, are 
like a beautiful new poem; you are my 
dream come true; a full blown rose in all 
the splendor of perfect womanhood.” 

’’Stuart, what; has come over you? 1 
never knew you could be so eloquent.” 
“Can’t you see, dear, it is not I, but your 
soul reflected in my heart; I am born anew 
of a woman’s wonderful love. A love, 
shameless, because pure; all powerful, be¬ 
cause enduring. From now on, God grant 
that our lives may broaden and entwine as 
the letters of our names in the bark of that 
tree.” 

He put his arm about her waist, and as 
they strolled off by the winding path and 
were lost in the deep shadows of the old 
oaks he bathed his soul in the radiant sun¬ 
shine of her presence. 

“You are like the soul of a summer day, 
Mary; aglow with a fresh sweet warmth, 
languid, restful, calm and serene; sweet as 
the fragrance from an old-fashioned gar¬ 
den.” 

They came to the bank of the lake, where 
a dam formed a picturesque waterfall. 


HOMING 


345 


There were fern-clad rocks and boulders, 
and fine old trees in all their autumn glory. 

At the lower end of the falls a fine old 
oak tree spread its dense shady foliage far 
over the rushing water. On the upper side 
of this old tree lay a big boulder, resting 
against its trunk, and deeply imbedded in a 
mass of moss and sweet smelling ferns. 

“You remember the spot, don’t you, 
dear? I always thought it the most beau¬ 
tiful on the old place; we used to get some 
very fine fish here.” 

“Indeed I do remember it,” replied Mary. 
“That used to be my throne,” pointing to 
the boulder, “and I shall mount it once 
more in state.” 

She climbed on the rock, sat down and 
leaned her bare head against the tree. Stu¬ 
art leaned against the rock, looking up at 
her with eyes through which the yearning 
and longing, the hunger for the joys of Life, 
were expressed as in passionate appeal. 

‘‘What a picture she makes under the 
shade of that mighty oak, her soft black 
dress clinging about her like a queen in 
mourning robes,” thought Stuart. 

Her throat was bare, revealing its ivory 
whiteness; her cheeks were flushed and her 


346 


HOMING 


hair, which seemed woven from the silver 
spray of the waterfall, loose and wind 
blown; strayed in hundreds of ringlets 
about her face and neck. 

Stuart gazed at her in speechless admira¬ 
tion. Suddenly he said: “I did not mean to 
speak to you yet, Mary; I tried to wait in 
patience until my year of mourning was up. 

I don’t want the children to think that I was 
ever lacking in respect to their mother. 

God knows, I have tried to do my 
duty like a man; I have suffered enough for 
getting fuddled in my youth and taking the 
wrong road. Through all the struggles and 
heartaches, I have never lost sight of duty, 
and if I have been unable to laugh through 
it, at least I have never whimpered; but 
surely, I have paid my penalty. When 1 
saw you standing there by the old tree, with 
our names interwoven and realized that I 
was free—well it just burst out, that’s all 
dear, and now won’t you name the day? I 
would like the Spring, because that is the 
time when all nature seems to be homing 
and surely there will be no unpleasant gos¬ 
sip if I wait that long. Shall we say May, 
dear heart?” 

She softly slipped her hand into his; he 



HOMING 


347 


bent over and kissed it, while a tear stole 
down her cheek. Then, in a trembling 
voice, she murmured: “I have waited 
more than twenty years for you, dear 
and I would wait . . . for¬ 

ever. Since that summer day, when I was 
only sixteen, when you were about to speak 
the words you have just spoken, I have 
waited, loving you always.” 

‘‘I love this old home, where my girlhood 
love for you was born . . . every 

tree, every flower, every blade of grass, 
every shadow on the old ice house 
every winding path and quiet dell, 
because they bring memories of you, and I 
will be yours whenever you come to claim 
me.” 

He seated himself on the boulder by her 
side, drew her to his heart, and pressed his 
mouth to her full soft lips. . . . 

His whole being tingled with the thrill of 
the first kiss he had ever received from a 
woman’s soul. 


Chapter 1 7 


I 

May, surely the most beautiful month of 
the year, brought another wedding day to 
“Awari.” 

On the second of May, while the sun¬ 
beams danced in the blossoms, warming the 
awakened earth, Mary stood before her mir¬ 
ror, while Marvina helped to arrange her 
wedding veil with its crown of orange blos¬ 
soms. 

“You are the most radiantly beautiful 
bride I have ever seen,*’ cried Marvina, 
when the last touch was given to the old lace 
and Mary had taken her bridal bouquet, 
ready to descend the stairs, “and certainly 
the most unusual one, with the orange blos¬ 
soms nestling in your silver hair, and your 
face like a rose bud, you don’t look a day 
over twenty. 

“Those ladies of Louis XVI s court knew 
what they were about, when they donned 
their white wigs and little patches.’’ 


HOMING 


349 


“You quite overwhelm me, my dear, with 
your kindness and compliments. Do you 
think he will think me beautiful?” 

“He thinks you are always beautiful, and 
so you are,” replied Marvina. 

After the ceremony, when Mary had 
changed into her traveling dress, she rushed 
up to the nursery to clasp little Violet to her 
heart and kiss her goodbye, and to give the 
new nurse all sorts of instructions as to the 
care of the child. 

“Where are you going, Ree?” lisped the 
child, “Pleathe turn back thoon.” 

“Yes, darling, I will, and then I will take 
you home, to our very own home.” She 
kissed the child once more and was gone. 

Surely, fiction has no miracles such as are 
found in real life. ... In Stuart, a 
metamorphosis had taken place; a dead soul 
had been resurrected by love and happiness. 

How brightly the sun shone for him on 
that May morning at the station; how his 
every nerve tingled and his blood burned, 
and how all the glamor and busy strife 
about him were swept away and forgotten, 
at the sight of the sweet face of his lovely 
bride ... 

“You can have that cottage of mine at 


350 


HOMING 


the seaside for your honeymoon,” Stuart’s 
uncle had said a few weeks before the 
wedding, "we are not going down until 
June.” 

II 

In the cottage by the sea, alone for the first 
time since she had become his, Stuart held 
her in his arms! 

“Mine . . my very own” 

he whispered, “my own sweet wife! and 
what a treasured possession you are.” 

Thus they began their honeymoon in the 
pretty cottage with its sloping lawn facing 
the wave-kissed shore. 

All in all to each other . . Alone, 

save for a visiting maid who came and went 
with the day. The hours flew by, on wings 
of happiness. At night, through the opened 
windows, came the lullaby of waves. There 
was sweet communion of mind and mutual 
confession of a great, infinite love, which 
waiting had only welded and thrice fastened. 

There were long walks on the beach, 
moonlight strolls while they gazed in silent 
admiration at the wondrous highway of 
shimmering silver, illuminating white sails 
far out on the world rim. 


HOMING 


351 


All things beautiful were theirs—the 
music of the birds, wealth of blossoms; love 
of life and joy of love. 

The little love-nest became a fairy castle 
over which ruled a queen, whose feminine 
charm and personality were everywhere. 

A fairy castle by an enchanted sea, set 
with phantom sails and celestial silver, across 
which a shimmering path led up to Heaven! 

The last evening in the honeymoon sanc¬ 
tuary had arrived. The air was laden with 
the perfume of spring blossoms; Mary was 
sitting at the piano, softly singing. Stuart 
leaned against the open window in the 
twilight. 

“Through the magic of her voice shines 
her very soul,“ he thought. 

“Love hath a language all its own, which 
music interprets marvelously.” He watched 
and listened in ecstasy. 

How sweet her face in the twilight; how 
beautiful her throat and arms; fairy fingers 
gifted with a touch as light and beautiful as 
the harmonies they invoked . . and 

that voice of the soul, telling of love divine 
. . . of mutual trust, appreciation and 

understanding ... of sweet joys, 
aesthetic bliss; of the wine of passion quaffed 


352 


HOMING 


from a brimming cup, while the brain reels, 
and the heart halts . . of a love which 

they knew would live through all eternity. 

Stuart rose and stood by his wife at the 
piano. She finished her song and looked up 
into his face . . He took her in his 

arms and kissed her. “Just think I am tak¬ 
ing you home tomorrow!** 

“Yes dear, to our own home,*’ said Mary. 
“I am drunk with happiness, and I want you 
to know, dear, that I do not regret all the 
loneliness and heartaches of the past, be¬ 
cause through them, the present is; because 
of them I can drink deeper of the fountain 
of happiness.’’ 


Ill 

It was Stuart’s first day at the office. 
Mary, in her new home, was busy as the 
bees in the blossoms of the apple trees by 
her window. 

Marvina motored over at her request, and 
brought Violet and her nurse. 

After an affection greeting, Mary begged 
her friend to stay for luncheon. 

“No dear, I am sure you must be far too 
busy preparing all for Stuart’s first homing; 


HOMING 


353 


some other time. I have brought you some 
old-fashioned plants, which I know you are 
fond of: there are some Sweet Williams, 
Petunias, Bleeding Hearts and August 
Lilies.** 

“Thank you so much, you are always so 
sweet and thoughtful, dear! I will get Joe 
to dig a place along the border of the lake 
and I will plant them myself.’’ 

They said good-bye and Mary picked little 
Violet up in her arms and kissed her again 
and again. 

“You may unpack Violet’s things, please, 
Nora, and put her nursery in order. I will 
take her out with me, while you tidy up her 
things!” 

“Does the ghost of the cottage still visit 
the place at sunset,” inquired Marvina, as 
old Uncle Bill respectfully opened the door 
of her car. 

“No mam, Mister Stuart done had de 
bodies ob that woman and her baby moved 
to de cemetery on de hill side at Valley View 
and now she done res* in peace, jes like I 
say; I sho* is glad, mam.” 

As Marvina’s car went gliding down the 
hillside past the ruins of the little cottage 
she smiled a little sadly and wondered 


354 


HOMING 


Mary put on a garden hat, took the basket 
of plants on her arm, and holding the child’s 
hand went out into the garden. There she 
planted her flowers, while she listened to the 
childish prattle of little golden-haired, blue¬ 
eyed Violet. 


IV 

“You did stay sush a long time, Ree,” 
pouted the child. 

“Never mind, 1 am never going to leave 
you any more,” she replied as she patted the 
wee golden head. 

“You know—Auntie Marvie say, you are 
married to my Daddy—and you are my— 
Muvver now.” 

“She did? Well, what do you think of 
that Violet dear?” 

“Oh, I am glad—cause, now I have you 
and Daddy ever* day!” 

She clasped her hands and laughed. Then 
she hesitated and became pensive. After a 
rather long pause she said, “I call you— 
muvver—Ree? Yes?” 

“Yes dear, if you like.” 

“Well—well—Muvver-Ree—, what you 
plantin’?” 




HOMING 


355 


“That is an old-fashioned flower, called 
‘Bleeding Heart’/’ answered Mary, as she 
watered the roots and patted the fresh soil 
around the plant. 

Violet thought for a moment and then in¬ 
quired,—“Well—Well! Muvver-Ree—will 
ah—ah—it have heart bleed on it when it 
blooms?’* 

Mary laughed; a musical happy laugh: 
“No, dear, it has beautiful red flowers; you 
will see it when it blooms.’’ As she finished 
planting the flowers she stooped and kissed 
the child tenderly. 

“Come, dear, we will go down by the 
brook at the foot of the hill and I will show 
you some mocking birds building their nest 
and we will gather dogwood and wild azaleas 
for the vases at home.” 

They walked down the winding path 
under a canopy of apple blossoms: a prat¬ 
tling glad-hearted child, a listening happy 
woman. 

At seven o’clock Violet was being put to 
bed by her nurse. Mary had gone to see 
that all was in order for the first dinner at 
home with her beloved. 

Coming out into the hall, she heard a 
rather rebellious voice from the nursery. 


356 


HOMING 


“I’m not sleepy,—I want my Muvver- 
Ree; see, sun way up,—don’t wanna go 
sleep.*’ 

Mary rushed upstairs. “What is the 
matter, Nora?’’ 

“It’s the daylight-saving, Madam, that 
gets us into trouble: it’s so light at seven, 
Madam, I always have the same trouble.*’ 

“Yes, but the day has been quite long 
enough for a little girl. Everything is 
going to rest; the birds, the butterflies— 
even the flowers close their petals and 
sleep.** 

“Well—well, Muvver-Ree, if you sing to 
me like you did before you go ’way,—then 
I try go ’sleep.’* 

“Very well, dear heart,’’ replied Mary, as 
she kissed the child goodnight, “Now I will 
sing to you, while the sandman comes 
through the window and takes you away to 
slumber land on the moonbeams. Leave the 
door open, Nora, so that Violet can hear me 
from the living room. Good night!’’ 

V 


Stuart’s car was at the station, one of the 
many cars awaiting the tired men coming 


HOMING 


357 


home. He sprang into the seat next to the 
chauffeur and started off in the procession 
with the others, all homing after a day’s 
hard toil. 

They passed a truckload of workmen go¬ 
ing home with a merry song on their lips, 
happy and contented. 

Upon arriving at the old homestead, they 
turned through the iron gate, and as the car 
went spinning up the old familiar drive 
under the ancient oaks in their spring dress 
of emerald green against the tender blue of 
the sky, his heart was singing a glad song of 
joy. 

The orchards were a riot of pink-tinted 
blossoms—the setting sun turned the brooks 
a rose color, as they laughed under the blos¬ 
soming boughs—A bird sang his evening 
love-song to its mate, down deep in the 
shady dell . . Through the fine old 

trees Stuart caught a glimpse of Joe, driving 
the cows home from the woodland pasture. 

And there, on the gently rising hill, on the 
banks of that beautiful lake, rose his old 
homestead. 

“My home,” thought Stuart, with a heart 
full of tenderness. “How wonderfully 
peaceful, with its background of lake and 



358 


HOMING 


blossoming trees, looking down at me from 
its throne upon the hill.” 

He leaped out of the car, as it stopped at 
the entrance and rushed upon the porch. 
He stopped suddenly and turned around, 
anxious to have one more glance at Nature’s 
unspoiled loveliness. 

A bluebird dropped down from the highest 
bough of the old cherry tree to the side of 
its mate on a lower bough, scattering a 
shower of blossoms in its flight. Softly, 
with its head erect, it struck the first note of 
its love song . . then as its mate flut¬ 

tered about among the blossoms, its notes 
grew higher and higher, until the old tree 
rang with its melody. 

The crimson hues of the setting sun were 
fading into purple and amber . . In 

the far distance, a lonely dove on tired 
wings 

He leaned against the wall of his home 
and removed his hat as though in silent 
prayer: 

‘‘I know, Heaven is no better or more 
beautiful than this,” whispered Stuart, “and 
I know, that love and religion are one and 
the same. I thank Thee God, for my re¬ 
demption. I have been purified; shorn of 


HOMING 


359 


my weakness, and triumphant through 
love.** 

Mary’s silvery voice came floating 
through the open window, like a beautiful 
benediction: 

“All things come home at eventide, 

Like birds that weary of their roaming.** 


THE END 


% 770 « 












V 



> A ^ *, * . s, / '*SkP*r > . < 

■*o "'" <$ J t» N '■ *;<s. ‘ "' J>\-"‘ * 

’ ^ ‘ '- ^ ^ * 

«• 


'.s' x '\ O. 

* s A X * v i B , ^ q 


*P°-* 





3 N 


V 

k\ * , 

- -jlS* ° & ^ 

Y °b % -j* o,^’ c ^p> y ^ , a ^^ o, 

''-<V % . v *\*»:%. > ^ ,/ .' C V. 

^ * M ° %■ $ “ 

r ,o^ v <v ° » _<? 

' -\ . . O, y o ♦ ^ A 0 * 

^o 0 ^>° 

A o" 




y> 


A^ -«*- <* '~z^y/ivsF v 

'■ ^ ^ N x cP c h> ' >, -> -lV < 

"' *•"■ VV”'A- 3 *° v *V-* 





r> o 4/ / ><s \\v . cS ”^c. -■ ° o 

-P. v H/ a^\K * v> ■> * -V 

c£* » 2> ^ o' y ^QiiSWj&y * 

<3, y 0 * \ * <6^ <* ^y . . s s iA 

JH o * o- 'Ko A> <, 

- c^V^v y '3ft * 




*A V* 


\°°x. 


1 8 * -o 

o N : ;r ^ ; 

>*’ "o. % ; 7 0 s <$? a 0 ° ^ 14 

^ ^ - - - - v A-iv ^ - -1 

^ ^ ° 

> ^r> "= ¥//WS$ ~ 

-i 





c- _ 

* «S £> -i o' , x-^/i>^>^ v 

'"‘‘o^.-^V. 

^ a . X- ,*n ' -f 

»> 
n 
/ 

kV . . tT ”,y o '* 

t < * 0 , > n^ s'' > 4 , % 





\ 0 °<. 




4 * ' C ^ 

•1 


* 8 1 

1 ^ 



•ft 

r ^ 

l O *v 

Z 2 ^ 

V 



\ 0 A. y 
Ci, ' > 














•v x 

' 

% * 

V V J 

A> z 

</> G ~ut a 'o \ vi» ^ -v 

"• 'V'"*** •^' 

■ ii *«, % / .<■ n c «;%'**',/ v - 1 f •« ■% 

.x * *?' * 


^ A 

V 0 * K * 



\v "^t, *• Crty/jy&p > ^ r 

<, a>* *■ \ ^0 C^ ✓ 

*> 

. Y * n ^ > 

^ <v' ♦ 

o "x /? j 

* . Z 

A v 'O'. ° 

* ^ ^ <J * d* ^ rt\ ^ 

^ ** i~^ s s '3 y o V x * ,6 V ^ // y S 

A *W?»A ° ^' W'- ^ w 

** f- «v* C ^ x n\' \ i' la ✓* ^/ 





















































































